


These Are the Nights

by vintagenoise



Series: Young Volcanoes [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beach, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Angry Sex, Artist Dean Winchester, Bad Sex, Blow Jobs, Childhood Friends, Christmas, Classism, Discussion of Dean/Other and Castiel/Other, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, First Time Blow Jobs, Floor Sex, Fluff, Frottage, Good Sex, M/M, Multi, Punk Castiel, References to Castiel/Other(s), References to Dean/Other(s), Road Trips, Sexual Confusion, Small Towns, Somnophilia, Unreliable Narrator, Winter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-01-06 00:49:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 41,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12200652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintagenoise/pseuds/vintagenoise
Summary: After a sudden tragedy, Castiel Milton and Dean Winchester reflect back on their youth in the beachside town of Sileas, Oregon, and all the lessons they learned on the path that led them to each other.In the Winter of 2008, Castiel visits his boyfriend, Dean, for Christmas. Despite all the big issues he and Dean have dealt with in the past, they've never had the chance to sort through the little things. Castiel is sure that their plans, from embarking on a road trip together, to spending time with the Winchesters, can only be good for their relationship. There's just one little problem that needs to finally be confronted: sex, and Castiel's difficulty with it.In the Summer of 2009, Dean and Sam visit their estranged father and his new family, who reluctantly allow Castiel to visit through Independence Day. All Dean wants is for his family and his boyfriend to get along, but between John's struggle to accept his son's sexuality, and his wife Kate's strange attitude towards Castiel, he's not sure he'll be able to make it work.





	1. Loud as Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my loves! :) It's been a while! But I'm happy to be back if you're happy to have me!
> 
> I owe an incredible amount of gratitude to [**noxsoulmate**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/noxsoulmate) for not only kicking my ass to get this done, but for pulling editing duty while working on her tropefest! Which she is putting up at the same time I'm putting this story up! So if you're happy Young Volcanoes is back, maybe go check out her tropefest and leave a comment, 'cause it's thanks to her it's here! 
> 
> And, of course, thank you for your patience! 
> 
> If this is your first time in this series, I strongly recommend reading [the rest of it](http://archiveofourown.org/series/90754) first :)
> 
> All the pictures for the roadtrip (except for the ones at the Tillamook Factory) were taken by my mom and myself on the roadtrip that inspired this story. Four years later, we're finally here!
> 
> Some other links:
> 
> [Previously On](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1lYssE5dRmG5DylQvSGIG7TwVHQ4dsn98AzLRersq4TU/edit), for those who have read the story but don't want to reread 200k to remember what's going on.  
> [The Young Volcanoes](https://open.spotify.com/user/vintagenoise/playlist/5pnEPDiYlZUbBMJb8LJ7V3) playlist on Spotify
> 
> Enjoy!

_ Tell me what you thought about _ __   
_ When you were gone and so alone _ __   
_ The worst is over _ __   
_ You can have the best of me _ __   
_ We got older but we’re still young _ _   
_ __ We never grew out of this feeling that we won’t give up

**Best of Me** , The Starting Line

 

**December 18th, 2008**

It’s gonna be awkward. 

Castiel said as much to Daphne when she dropped him off at the airport, but she just rolled her eyes at him and told him to suck it up, stop worrying, and figure it out. Daphne has never met Dean, has only heard about him in the stories Castiel has told her and seen the pictures Sam posts on Facebook, but for whatever reason, she seems fairly confident that they’ll move past this. More confident than some of Castiel’s other friends, at least: Balthazar seems especially convinced that this is the end, but then he also thinks he has something to gain if that’s true, so Castiel is taking his opinion with a grain of salt. 

But maybe Daphne’s right. Compared to some of the other disasters Dean and Castiel have been through in the past, this is little more than a road block. Technically. What Castiel did is nowhere near as bad as Dean’s cheerful, ignorant exploits with Aaron last year. 

Or that’s what Castiel keeps telling himself, anyway. Sometimes, he’s not so sure it’s true. 

Castiel chews on his fingernail and takes a deep breath of stale air, staring out the window at the Portland tarmac, where the sky is still gray from recent storms. The woman next to him glares at his hair again, and clutches her carry-on closer to her chest, but Castiel pretends not to notice, and not to take offense. Luckily, his phone vibrates with a text just as he’s pulling it out of his back pocket.

 

**Dean:** out in the lobby cant wait 2 c u!!!

 

And that eases the iron grip on Castiel’s heart, if only a little. He’s spent so much of this semester missing Dean, wishing they could really have time to spend  _ together _ , instead of phone calls and texts and yellow envelopes stuffed with pencil drawings. He  _ had _ been looking forward to this visit, up until about two weeks ago.

Two weeks ago, Castiel fucked it up. Majorly. To the point that he was surprised Dean even wanted him to come out anymore, and is downright shocked by Dean’s eagerness to see him. But he’ll take what he can get, at this point. They’ll have to talk about it, eventually, but maybe that won’t go so badly if Dean is still happy to see him.

Castiel anxiously twists the stud in his earlobe. The woman next to him huffs, then finally slides out of her seat when a gentleman gives her the space to enter the aisle. No one bothers to do the same for Castiel, but that’s fine. He’ll wait. The longer he can put this off, the better. 

But time marches on, and eventually the aisle is clear, the stewards’ smiles are strained, and Castiel has no choice but to walk out of the plane and step onto that peculiar Portland Airport carpet. His heart is pounding in his throat, in his head, as he makes his way past the line of shops toward security, towards the lobby, towards  _ Dean _ . It’s nervousness, certainly, from their recent fight. But the closer Castiel gets to the lobby, the easier it is to realize that he  _ wants _ to see Dean. So badly that he feels giddy with it, that he actually catches himself smiling as he enters the lobby and sees Dean for the first time since August. Tall and handsome and all aglow in the silvery winter light streaming through the windows. 

At first he thinks Dean doesn’t see him; they’re only about thirty feet apart and as Dean scans the area, he looks right past him. Castiel frowns, perturbed, then remembers: Dean is probably looking for a plain, dark mop of hair and pastel polos, like Castiel wore the last time they were together (the last few years, actually). Castiel’s not one for selfies and Dean’s not one for Facebook, so Dean probably doesn’t know to look for the changes Castiel has made in the last few months. 

So Castiel tousles his hair, still not accustomed to the soft fuzz on the sides of his head, and strides forward with a megawatt smile, until he finally locks eyes with a very surprised Dean.

“Woah,” says Dean, his eyes quickly scanning Castiel’s body, then darting back up to his hair. “Who are you, and what did you do with my preppy boyfriend?”

The cloud of  _ awkward _ and  _ bad _ dissipates at the sound of  _ boyfriend _ , in the unrelenting sunshine of Dean’s freckled face. “I guess I’m finding myself,” Castiel answers. “I hear college is good for that.”

Dean gives him another once-over, then grins. “You’re dressed like me.”

“Kind of.”

“Yeah. You probably paid for those holes in your jeans. I  _ earned _ mine.” 

Castiel rolls his eyes and runs his hand through his hair again. Dean watches the gesture, smirking like he knows something Castiel doesn’t, and that’s entirely possible. Castiel’s not new to rebellion, but he is new to showcasing it with mohawks and pierced ears and hair dye and yes, expensive pre-torn jeans. He’s nineteen now, and for the first time in his life, he’s almost completely out from under his family’s shadow. His parents pay his rent and give him an allowance for other expenses, but otherwise, he’s freer than he’s ever been. The professors at Northwestern won’t call his mother if he skips class once in awhile. He doesn’t get scolded and sent to the office for being off-uniform, and the other students don’t care if his personal clothes are brand name. His new friends’ parents are accountants and secretaries and salesmen, not actors and athletes. That whole world was so overwhelmingly  _ new _ that Castiel could only enjoy it by trying to  _ be _ someone new.

He figured out pretty early on that parties and piercings and sex with girls can’t change who he is. It doesn’t matter what he wears or what he does to his hair; Castiel always has been and always will be a little off-putting, a little naive, a little cold and logical. He’s learning to accept that.

But he likes this look anyway. He likes not fitting in with the rest of his family. He likes t-shirts and jeans and cheap, colorful shoes made out of cloth. And while Dean is still studying him like a difficult math problem, there’s affection and heat in that gaze, so maybe Castiel isn’t the only one who likes it. 

“Well, if this is what college does to you, I can’t complain too much,” Dean says with a wink, reaching over to gently touch Castel’s ear, trail the line of his cheekbone to his lips, down to his chin, and finally grabbing a handful of his shirt collar, to pull him in for a kiss.

Castiel is a little surprised by this, to be honest, but he melts into it anyway. Joy surges through him when Dean’s weight presses against his chest, and he takes the opportunity to drag a hand through Dean’s hair, keeping him close even when Dean grins and starts to pull back. Castiel steals one more kiss, pressed mostly to the dip above Dean’s chin, then admits, “After what happened with Balthazar, I didn’t think you’d-”

Dean kisses him again, stealing the words from his mouth. “Don’t wanna talk about it yet.”

“But Dean-”

“Nope.” Dean pops the ‘p’ sound, and releases Castiel’s collar, taking his hand instead. “C’mon. We gotta go downstairs to get your gear.”

And maybe Castiel is imagining it, but Dean’s grip on his hand doesn’t feel tight enough, and his smile isn’t as bright, and when Dean insists on carrying Castiel’s luggage out to the car, it all feels a little perfunctory. The thought that Castiel isn’t forgiven yet is one thing, but it was only a few months ago that he and Dean were pretending that all was well in their relationship even though it wasn’t. Castiel doesn’t want to pretend that the bad things they’ve done never happened, because he knows first-hand that all that does is lead to resentment, anger, and frustration. He’s pretty sure Dean understands that too.

So, once they’re finally in the Impala, once the doors are finally shut tight and the engine is purring, the first words out of Castiel’s mouth are, “I want to say I’m sorry.”

Dean sighs, and the air is instantly heavier. “I said I don’t want to talk about it yet.” He doesn’t look at Castiel, twisting around until they’re backed out of the parking spot, then keeping his eyes on the road ahead. “Tell me about school.”

“I’ve been telling you about school. There’s nothing new to tell.”

“Tell me about your friends.”

“But I’ve already-”

“ _ Cas _ .” Dean sighs again. Taps his fingers on the steering wheel. Shifts in his seat. “We can talk about it when I’m not driving on the goddamn highway. I want to hear about how much fun you’ve been having at school.”

Castiel has to take a moment to find a subject of conversation, and settles on, “The Rainbow Alliance is holding a karaoke fundraiser when we get back.”

Dean visibly relaxes, his smile turning more natural. “Sounds fun. You gonna sing?”

“Probably. The president says all members have to, so Hannah asked me to sing with her, but we haven’t picked out a song or anything yet.”

And it’s funny, because Castiel tenses slightly when he mentions Hannah’s name, but Dean just glibly comments, “Isn’t she the one you lost your virginity to?”

“No.” Castiel can’t believe they’re having this conversation. “That was Daphne.”

“I thought you met Hannah at a party on your first week.”

“I did, but I didn’t sleep with her. We’re just friends.” That’s the shorter, less embarrassing version of the story. Maybe that’s why Castiel feels so awkward talking about his potential romantic exploits with Dean: he hasn’t been completely honest about any except the most recent. 

Castiel clears his throat, shaking those thoughts away. After a brief, strained silence, Dean prompts him: “I thought you were friends with a Daphne too.”

Daphne’s story is even more complicated than Hannah’s, but Castiel keeps it concise, with: “And you’re friends with Aaron. I can be friends with people I’ve slept with.”

Another tense silence. Dean swallows. They’re both thinking the same thing, and Castiel opens his mouth to try and broach the subject again, but Dean cuts him off, “Was Daphne the one you ate out?”

Castiel blushes hot and stares at his lap. It’s so weird how Dean can casually ask these questions, his expression nothing more than curiosity, his eyes glued to the road. Because of the nausea that comes from combining jealousy and inadequacy, Castiel doesn’t want to hear  _ anything _ about  _ any _ of Dean’s previous partners, but Dean doesn’t seem bothered at all. He only glances at Castiel once an answer has failed to appear. “There was a girl you ate out, right?” Dean asks, and then to make things worse: “‘Cause I swear I never heard anything as hot as you saying you went down on a girl.”

“You think it’s  _ hot _ that I had sex with someone else?”

“ _ Dude _ .” Dean’s grin comes so easily that there’s no way he realizes how much that response has thrown Castiel off balance. “Back when I was dating Lisa, before I knew I was into dudes, I had some seriously dirty dreams about that shit.”

“About… me and Lisa?”

“Well, not  _ just _ you and Lisa.” Dean winks at him, charming and unaware. “I got in there too, don’t you worry.”

Are they really sitting here, stuck alone in a car together for almost an hour, discussing Castiel’s brief sexual history and Dean’s fantasies involving women? Castiel doesn’t think he’s ever been this uncomfortable in his entire life, including when his mother told him about the birds and the bees, and the night his brothers sat him down to expand on the subject. 

But this is Castiel’s  _ boyfriend _ , so it should be different. They’ve discussed sex before, though that was mostly about sex with each other. Whenever they talked about Dean having sex with Aaron, Castiel would get irrationally angry - and okay, that might have been a sign of things to come, if Castiel had been looking for such things. 

Maybe Castiel is just a prude. Maybe that’s why he had so many problems every time he tried to hook up with someone, but if that’s the case… Well. Dean is obviously  _ not _ a prude. Dean has no issues with sex, whether it’s with a man or a woman, or a one-night hook-up, or someone he loves, or a gilded fantasy. Castiel has a flash of jealousy, that Dean finds this so easy, or at least is able to pretend he does. As soon as the jealousy disappears, disappointment and frustration settles into the place it vacated: it was easier to talk about sex when Castiel was a virgin. Who knows why. Castiel is weird about other things, why not be weird about this too. 

Castiel takes a deep breath and stutters out, “That was April. That I… did that to. And I didn’t enjoy it.”

Dean actually pouts. It’s quick, gone before Castiel can even open his mouth to call him out on it, replaced with an easy smile. “It’s not for everyone. I mean, I loved it, but that doesn’t mean you have to, I guess.”

“I guess,” Castiel echoes, frowning at his lap. 

“I’d kinda figured you were gay anyway. I gotta admit, I was surprised when your girls outnumbered your boys, but I guess if you only actually had sex with one of them-”

“I  _ did _ have sex with one of them,” Castiel is quick to point out. “That’s not gay. And I didn’t really enjoy it that much with Inias either.” 

That whole experience had just been flat-out uncomfortable. Inias was cute, with his floppy hair and patchy beard, and Castiel is man enough to admit that the way Inias hung on his every word and always backed him up at Rainbow Alliance was an incredible ego stroke. But “cute” apparently wasn’t enough to get Castiel’s engine going, and all that ego quickly drained away in the face of how fucking awkward sex can apparently be. Once it was over, all Castiel got out of it was a better understanding of his body, and the sharp bitterness of missing Dean.

“Didn’t like it?” Dean says now, pursing his lips. “Should I be concerned?”

“Well, it’s not like it turned me off of  _ you _ \---”

“No, no, I mean…” Dean trails off into a sigh. “Never mind.”

Castiel frowns, noting the way Dean’s expression has gone pointedly blank, and his shoulders have tensed. Castiel reaches over, gently prying one of Dean’s hands off the steering wheel and bringing it to his lips, leaving a kiss against the knuckles. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, closing his eyes. He’s not entirely sure what he’s apologizing for, except that he hates upsetting Dean, and it’s easy to make the leap to where this conversation has brought up the one they’re pointedly avoiding. “Can we talk about it now?”

Dean sighs again, rough with frustration this time. “I said, not while I’m driving.”

“Then pull over.” Castiel opens his eyes just in time to catch the surprised look on Dean’s face, just before he turns back to the road. It’s been true for years that Dean is the only one who lights a fire under Castiel’s skin, so once the idea catches in Castiel’s brain, he can’t help setting it in motion. He drags his lips up one of Dean’s fingers, pressing a kiss to the tip, before carefully placing Dean’s hand in his own lap, settled high on his thigh. “I can make it worth your while.”

Dean shifts in his seat and clears his throat, keeping his eyes steadfast on the road. “Dude.”

“I actually didn’t get around to trying oral on a guy, but I feel bad that I never paid you back over the summer, so I’m willing to try, if you like.”

“ _ Dude _ .” Dean swallows and shudders, but when he looks at Castiel again, his eyes are wide and sad. He takes his hand back while Castiel is too surprised to stop him. 

“What’s wrong?”

Dean huffs, shaking his head. “I don’t want you to ‘ _ pay me back _ .’ That’s not what it’s about. I don’t want you to keep a running tally of sex, I just want to make you feel good.”

“... Paying you back  _ would _ make me feel good.”

“Cas. Buddy. Sweetheart. C’mon.” Dean grins, quickly reaching over to tap Castiel’s nose, chuckling affectionately at the way Castiel’s eyes cross. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Then what  _ do _ you mean?”

Dean adjusts his grip on the steering wheel, again fidgeting in his seat. “I could get off just from getting you off. Y’know? If you really want to, then I’m not gonna tell you no. I’m open for business 24/7. But I don’t want you to do it just because you feel obligated.” He glances at Castiel, then nods, almost as if he’s reaffirming this to himself. “I’m not dating you just so I can get laid. You know that.”

Castiel does know that, but it’s nice to have the reminder anyway. Especially after all the trouble sex has brought them over the last few weeks. Castiel’s shoulders relax, and in that second, he realizes that he had been stressing out over not just recent events, but on what Dean’s expectations might be once they were occupying the same space again. Castiel isn’t a virgin anymore, but he’s not sure that that matters: he still feels pretty clueless about the whole nasty, sweaty, awkward affair. Dean is more experienced and doesn’t seem fazed by how weird sex is. They’re still on different levels, and Castiel feels insecure every time he lets himself think about it.

“Besides,” Dean continues, his voice regaining its cheerful tone, “after the shitshow that was last summer, it’s probably not a good idea to start this trip out with a blowjob.” He winks, grinning again. “Seems like it’s bad juju.”

Despite himself, Castiel laughs. And when Dean reaches out to take Castiel’s hand, interlacing their fingers, Castiel lets him.

The rest of the drive into Sileas is far more mundane, but that’s where Castiel finds his comfort. Being around Dean is easy in a way that Castiel often forgets in the months that pass between visits, and so he also forgets how to let it be easy. Once the mask starts to peel away, and the stress of school and friends and finding himself falls from his shoulders, Castiel is able to laugh and revel in the warmth of Dean’s gaze and the sunshine of his smile. The sky outside is gray and cold, but Castiel barely notices, caught up in stories about the bar and tourists and Ellen and Jo. The rest of Dean’s friends have gone away to school, though Dean happily mentions that Charlie will also be in town for the holidays. Castiel wonders how Dean is handling this situation, if he’s really holding up okay with no one but Jo and Sam to hang out with, but he doesn’t ask. That’s probably another conversation that Dean doesn’t want to have. 

It’s just after two when they pass the resort outside of town. It’s closed for the winter, since people who have the money to do so usually prefer to chase the sun: San Diego, Scottsdale, Tampa Bay. Castiel has had those Christmases, and he can’t help the glee that shoots through him, remembering that he’ll be spending this Christmas at the Winchester home, instead of a fancy hotel or a house that sees more maids than owners. 

He’s actually starving, and knowing Dean, he assumes that they’ll be getting food as soon as they’re in the town proper, but to his surprise, Dean takes a street up the hill, too far for either the Winchester home or the Roadhouse. Instead, Dean pulls into the small parking lot outside the high school, and puts the car into park, leaving the engine rumbling as he turns to Castiel with open arms. 

Castiel knows what Dean wants, but he pouts, resisting. “I thought we were going to eat.”

“Sam gets out in like a half hour, we can wait and eat with him. We’re gonna have that talk now.”

Castiel sniffs. “I don’t think we can have that talk in half an hour.”

“Come on. The heater sucks and I wanna cuddle.”

“I can’t cuddle  _ and _ have the conversation you want to have.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “ _ Cas _ .”

“ _ Dean _ .” Castiel manages to hold out for a few more seconds before relenting, sliding across the bucket seat into Dean’s open arms. He sighs against Dean’s neck, wraps his arms around his waist, as Dean squeezes him tight and buries his face in Castiel’s hair. They take a moment to settle, breathing one another in, and then Dean says: “I’m sorry.”

Castiel had expected as much, because he  _ knows _ Dean, and he knows how Dean gets sometimes. Still, it’s annoying, so Castiel tsks and buries himself deeper in Dean’s embrace. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I shouldn’t have-”

“ _ You _ had permission. I didn’t.”

Dean huffs, but doesn’t respond. Because Castiel’s not wrong: it’s a complicated situation, and that’s entirely Castiel’s fault. 

During the summer, Castiel had been so frustrated by his own inability to understand his friends’ and boyfriend’s laissez-faire attitude towards sex. He wanted to see if he could figure out what information he was missing, and had been pleased when Dean understood what he was looking for. They had agreed to keep their relationship open, on both ends, and had settled on a few ground rules. 

Castiel’s first mistake was thinking that meaningless sex would help him get over his confusion. All he learned was that he didn’t like hooking up, and even though he’d had a couple good experiences with Dean, it seemed that he didn’t really like sex all that much outside of Dean. The sweat and the grunting and the weird smells and the muscle cramps made Castiel’s original disinterest lean more towards outright disgust. 

His second mistake was the selfish, manipulative assumption that Dean would never take advantage of the open relationship. Castiel had assumed that between the knowledge of how badly Castiel had been hurt by the tryst with Aaron, and the lack of options during the tourism off-season, Dean would be content to wait until they saw each other again. Those are the only reasons Castiel even offered the open relationship to Dean in the first place, and he knows now that that was probably the stupidest thing he’s ever done.

Dean taking the opportunity to have sex with a girl who was passing through town is not the problem. A few weeks separated from the event, Castiel can acknowledge that. Dean did absolutely nothing wrong. The problem was Castiel’s overreaction. He had never been as angry as he was when Dean told him about what he had done. The phrase ‘seeing red’ suddenly made sense, and he had blown up at Dean before hanging up on him. 

The third, and worst, mistake was Castiel’s irrational decision to seek out revenge in the form of sex with Balthazar. As much as Castiel hadn’t known true fury before Dean’s phone call, he hadn’t understood true regret until the adrenaline wore off, and he found himself forced to make a difficult call of his own. 

Dean hadn’t spoken, and had hung up on him as soon as Castiel was finished apologizing. They didn’t speak for five days. Castiel considers himself lucky that he has friends like Hannah and Daphne, who kept him distracted for that time. He still thinks that, without their help, he might have done some other stupid, irrational thing while he waited to hear if Dean would forgive, or if he would be forced to figure out a new life path that didn’t involve sharing a Victorian home with a green-eyed artist.

Now more than ever, Castiel appreciates Dean’s innate nature. He is kind and helpful and forgiving above all else, usually when he has no reason to be. Castiel often benefits from this, but he hadn’t ever really considered  _ how much _ he benefits from it until Dean called and told him they’d figure it out and move forward together. Castiel hates vagaries of that sort, but it was better than breaking up, so he took it. They had agreed this would be a conversation better had in person, and spent a couple awkward weeks pretending nothing had happened.

Now they’re here, together, and they’re not talking. Castiel searches his mind for words, anything, to explain why he did what he did, or why he was so angry, but nothing surfaces. All the anger has already floated away and has been replaced by the sea of guilt, but even that guilt seems to have faded now that Dean’s wrapped around him, solid and real and unmoving. No matter how badly Castiel fucks up, Dean’s not going anywhere, and that realization just makes Castiel want to ensure that he’s worthy of that kind of devotion. 

“I love you,” Castiel says, finding the only words that matter. “I don’t want to be with anyone else.”

Dean’s grip tightens, keeping Castiel close when he tries to pull away. “I know that.”

It takes a moment for Castiel to catch up with which part of his statement Dean is responding to. “No, no, I mean…” He finally manages to break Dean’s grip, pulling out of his embrace to meet his gaze. He even reaches up to cup Dean’s chin in his hands, to ensure Dean can’t look away. “I don’t want to sleep around anymore. I didn’t like it, and… it’s just not for me. I want  _ you _ .”

Dean blinks at him, the corner of his lips turning up slightly. “You sure li’l ol’ me will be enough to satisfy you now?”

“ _ Dean _ .”

“I’m just sayin’. You’re the big man on campus now, you could have anybody you want. Sure you wanna waste that on some nobody mechanic in Bumfuck, Oregon?”

The expression on Dean’s face is almost a smile, but Castiel is well-used to Dean’s half-serious self-depreciation by now, and he won’t stand for it. He strokes his thumbs over Dean’s cheekbones, where the freckles have faded from the lack of summer sun, and waits until that not-quite-smile disappears, and Dean’s eyes are wide and deep, ready to listen to reason. 

“You’re not a nobody,” Castiel starts. Dean huffs through his nose, but doesn’t respond. “And when I say I didn’t like sleeping around, that’s exactly what I mean. I-”

Castiel hesitates, unsure of how to explain what he wants to say. He can feel his face warming up as he searches his mind for the right words, and struggles to find a delicate way to explain himself.

“I only had real sex twice,” he says quickly, then catches himself. “I mean,  _ penetrative _ .” His cheeks are burning, and he knows Dean has noticed too from the way he’s trying not to smile. Castiel keeps his hold on Dean’s face, but averts his gaze. It’s easier to admit this to the indiscriminate brick schoolhouse. “And I was only the, um, penetrator once. There’s... a reason for that.”

The car engine rumbles around them, but Dean doesn’t speak, so Castiel quickly glances back at him. Dean’s brow is furrowed with confusion, his lower lip jutted out as he considers this information and tries to make a full picture out of it.

“... I’m gonna assume it was with one of the girls,” Dean says finally, “because I seriously doubt that you’re the type to enjoy pegging.”

Castiel doesn’t even know what pegging is, but he opts not to be distracted by Dean’s weird sense of humor. “It was Daphne.”

“Okay. So you… thought she was the prettiest?”

Castiel chews on his lower lip, well-aware that he’s being annoying, but also unable to just spit out what he’s thinking. It’s embarrassing, and not really something he wants to discuss with his very-sex-enthusiastic but also very-self-doubting boyfriend.

Then, he remembers why he ended up liking Daphne in the first place.

“Well, she does look like you.”

Dean laughs, until he notices Castiel isn’t doing the same. “What?”

“Hair, eyes, freckles, cheekbones…” Castiel dismissively waves his hand in the air. “Similar enough. And I missed you.”

Dean still looks confused, though this new information does have him blushing slightly. Castiel sighs and shakes his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices that the doors of the school have opened, and kids are starting to file out, peppering the surrounding silence with cheerful chatter. Sam will be joining them soon, and if Castiel is struggling to talk about this with Dean, then he’s certainly not interested in having the conversation with Sam around. “Can we just agree not to sleep around with others anymore? It was a terrible idea, I regret it, and I don’t want either of us to be with anyone else ever again.”

Dean purses his lips, studying Castiel’s face, then shrugs casually. “Okay. We can talk about you having sex with my doppleganger later.”

“ _ Dean _ .”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean grins, disarming and brilliant as always. “I suggested monogamy in the first place anyway, doofus, did you really think---”

Castiel cuts him off with a kiss, because Dean talks too much, and honestly,  _ doofus _ ? How dare he. Dean just grins into it, pleased with himself and his victory.

Sam interrupts them only seconds later, clambering into the car and sliding over to sit behind Castiel, marveling at his hair and piercings and asking a million questions about college and Chicago. Dean seems content with this, only chiming in to say that they’re going to the arcade in Seaside for the evening, before allowing Sam to take over and direct the conversation again. 

It’s actually such a wonderful evening that Castiel almost forgets he doesn’t live in the area. For a few hours, whooping Dean’s ass at DDR, watching the brothers shoot aliens, eating popcorn and nachos and drinking gigantic sodas, teasing Sam for losing and accepting a kiss for Dean’s victory, it’s all so natural that it feels like an everyday occurrence. Like he’s lived on the Oregon coast his entire life, and he doesn’t have to spend most of the year separated from the boy he loves.

It’s everything Castiel hoped it would be, and while he’s starting to feel his jet lag by the time they decide to head home, he’s also happier than he’s been in weeks. Even before everything that happened with Balthazar, there was anxiety and sadness and uncertainty swirling through Castiel’s head most of the time, but now, with Sam chattering happily about how excited he is for winter break to start, and Dean holding his hand in the space between their hips, there’s just peace. If this is the effect Dean has on him, they’ll have to figure out how to see each other more often while Castiel finishes his degree. 

Mary is standing in the kitchen, sipping a mug of tea, as the boys bustle in from the garage. She watches them fondly while Sam and Dean argue about the best strategy to win at Pac-Man, and sets her mug aside to cross the floor and pull Castiel into a hug.

“College suits you,” she says after a pointed glance at his hair. “Enjoy it while you can.”

“Thank you. I will.”

“You’re sure your mom is okay with you spending the holidays out here?” 

At this, Castiel glances back at Dean, who rolls his eyes and hangs up his jacket. “I’ve told you a hundred times, Mom---”

“I know, I know,” Mary huffs. “But it’s  _ Christmas _ , and that’s  _ family time _ , and I just, I feel bad. A little.”

“Don’t,” Castiel says with a smile. “I saw my parents all last week, and I’ll see them for another week before school starts. Gabe and Luke are too busy to visit, and Michael is using us being gone as an excuse not to go either, so I won’t be missing much.”

“Still.  _ Christmas _ .”

Castiel laughs and shakes his head. “Anna will be very happy to finally have Mom and Dad to herself. Don’t worry about it.”

Mary raises an eyebrow, apparently still torn, but the fact is that Castiel is here and he’s staying, and she nods as if reaffirming that to herself too. “C’mon then, I’ll show you where you’re sleeping.”

Dean dramatically rolls his eyes as Mary turns to lead them to the living room. She ignores him, gesturing at the couch and affixing a stern expression on her face. “I know you’re both adults, but since you’re staying in my house, I’m implementing some ground rules.”

“ _ Mom _ ,” Dean hisses, spots of pink in his cheeks as Sam snickers.

Mary ignores him again, choosing instead to focus on Castiel. “You will sleep here,” she says, putting a hand on the back of the couch. “It’s a pull-out and my parents have always found it comfortable, so hopefully you will too.  _ Dean _ ,” she turns to her oldest son, whose mouth is open in an attempt to protest, but he quickly closes it when he sees her glare. “Dean can either sleep in his room, or up here with you, but you can’t  _ both _ sleep downstairs.”

“ _ Mom _ ,” Dean whines. 

Sam makes a face and whispers, “ _ Gross _ .”

Dean immediately reaches up to trap his brother in a chokehold, and while they wrestle it out, Castiel turns to Mary with a smile. “That’s perfectly fair.”

“I’m glad you see it my way.”

Sam shoves Dean away, so Dean returns to the conversation with a put-upon expression. “You know you can’t enforce that rule all the time, Mom. You work nights.”

“As a mother, I feel obligated to at least  _ try _ and control what kind of trouble my sons get up to.” Mary crosses her arms over her chest. “I just hope that you’ll respect me enough to at least  _ consider _ my wishes.”

‘Respect’ appears to be the magic word, because Dean deflates when she says it, his shoulders slumping and his lower lip pouting. “All right, all right, I get the picture. Can we get Cas settled in now? He’s had a long day.”

Mary wishes them all a good night before heading up to her own room, and Castiel is banished to the downstairs bathroom to change while Sam and Dean make up his bed. Castiel is a little perturbed by this, both because he doesn’t want to be treated as a ‘guest,’ and because he’s never seen how a pull-out bed works before, and wants to be able to do it himself. Dean actually laughs when Castiel voices this, and while it’s affectionate, there’s a little bit of condescension in it as well.

But Castiel refuses to let this visit start off on a bad note, so he brushes it off and lets the familiar routine of brushing his teeth, washing his face, and dressing for bed calm him down. 

By the time he leaves the bathroom, the couch has been transformed into a bed lined with throw pillows, and there’s no one else in sight. Only one lamp is on, and Castiel feels a little put-out that everyone (particularly, Dean) would go to bed without saying good night, but maybe that’s just how it is in the Winchester home. Sighing, Castiel adjusts his ratty sweater and flannel pajama pants before climbing into the bed. It’s immediately apparent that this will  _ not _ be a comfortable sleeping experience, when he lays down and feels steel bars digging into his back and hips. He doesn’t want to complain, however; not only would that be rude, but it would be putting him in a position to be teased for his family’s wealth again. So Castiel improvises, rearranging the throw pillows so that one supports the small of his back, and another sits right under his thighs. With one more supporting his shoulders, Castiel pulls the blankets up and closes his eyes, settling in for some much-needed sleep. 

Except, he’s startled awake by a very cheerful Dean bouncing onto the other side of the bed, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s torso and tangling their legs together as he rubs his face in Castiel’s chest and mumbles something.

“I’m sorry, you’re going to have to say that to my face, not my sweater.”

Dean lifts his head to reveal a bright, moonlit grin. “I like your jammies,” he clarifies, tugging Castiel closer, until their noses touch. “You’re all warm and cozy up in here, like some kinda fuckin’ awesome teddy bear.”

Castiel shoves Dean’s face away. Dean just laughs and snuggles back into Castiel’s chest, like he plans on staying awhile. Mary had said that they could share the sofa bed, but Castiel hadn’t expected Dean to take the opportunity, nor had he expected Dean to be like  _ this _ .

They’ve shared a bed once before, many years ago, and completely on accident. It was after their first kiss, but outside of that kiss and a few unusual flutters, they hadn’t developed real feelings for each other yet. Not romantic ones, at least, or perhaps just not  _ consciously _ romantic, since Castiel remembers waking up with Dean’s chest pressed against his back, and both of them trying to hide their flustered surprise at finding themselves entangled.

Maybe that’s where Castiel’s current surprise comes from, and the more he thinks about it, the less surprised he is: Dean is tactile. Dean enjoys physical affection. Of the two of them, Dean is both more sexual and more romantic.  _ Of course _ he wants to share a bed, and  _ of course _ he wants to cuddle. 

So Castiel wraps his arms around Dean’s shoulders, keeping him close. When Dean responds by humming contentedly, Castiel presses a gentle kiss to his temple and buries his nose in Dean’s hair. It smells like sweat and motor oil, but only faintly, and those scents are so wrapped up in Castiel’s mental image of Dean that his instinctual response is  _ comfort _ and  _ fondness _ .

They don’t speak again. Eventually Dean’s grip loosens on the back of Castiel’s sweater, and Castiel’s breath slows into something easy and even. Sileas is silent and Castiel sleeps deeper than he has in months, as the light of the moon finally reaches through the bay window on its journey towards the horizon. 

 

**December 19th, 2008**

The smell of coffee makes Castiel whine and pull the blanket up over his head. Soft laughter drifts through the barrier, and Castiel wakes up just enough to register that he’s alone in the sofa bed, but there’s a warm spot right next to him, and he rolls into it, picking up the scent of motor oil on this new pillow and sighing contentedly as he burrows back in. 

“Cas.”

“Mmph.”

“Castiel.” Dean almost never uses Castiel’s full name unless he’s upset, but this time there’s amusement in those extra syllables, and an insistent finger poking at Castiel’s shoulder through the blanket. Castiel just whines again, and now the laughter is outright. “Jeez, for some reason I thought you were a morning person.”

“Hmm.”

“Do you not get up at the asscrack of dawn to run anymore?”

Castiel grabs the pillow he recently vacated and throws it over his shoulder, in the general direction of Dean’s voice. He doesn’t bother to look, but a quiet exclamation lets him know that he at least came close to hitting his target. 

“I could’ve sworn you were on the track team at school,” Dean continues to tease, his voice now further away. “Pretty sure that’s how you met at least one of your friends.”

Castiel scowls and lifts his head. “Daphne,” he croaks, rubbing at a crick in his neck before dropping back down onto his pillow. “And  _ I _ could’ve sworn I was on  _ vacation _ .”

“Never stopped you from running around town in those stupid, sexy shorts during the summer.”

“This isn’t stupid, sexy shorts weather.” Castiel extends a hand in Dean’s general direction, his eyes stubbornly closed. “It’s sleep in and cuddle with my boyfriend weather.”

As expected, Dean doesn’t have a smartass response for that. Instead, he sighs and takes a seat on the edge of the bed, leaning over to leave a kiss on the soft fuzz above Castiel’s ear. “I gotta take Sammy to school,” he whispers, and the smell of stale coffee is noticeable on his breath from this distance. It’s less pleasant than the faint motor oil smell, but Castiel opens his eyes and tilts his head to pout at Dean.

“And then?”

“Then I gotta go to work.” Dean’s tone is resigned, and he turns away from Castiel’s expression to take another sip of his coffee. 

“I fly halfway across the country to see you, and you can only spare a few hours between shifts?”

“Don’t be like that.” Dean’s eyebrows furrow in annoyance. “We’re gonna go down the coast tomorrow like I promised, and I get time off for the holidays, but I can’t afford to take a whole two weeks off. I told you that when we were making plans.”

It was Dean’s idea for Castiel to come out in the first place, but Castiel bites his tongue. He doesn’t want to pick a fight this early in his visit, and he certainly doesn’t want to pick on him this early in the morning. Instead, he pushes his blankets aside and sits up, surprised at how sore his neck and back are. “So what am I supposed to do while you’re working?”

It comes out more petulant than Castiel intended, and Dean is less than amused, but thankfully chooses not to comment. “Charlie’s home. Her new girlfriend might be over, but I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

There are worse ways to spend a day, and Castiel has to admit that he’s missed Charlie too. She had participated in Jo’s cold shoulder shenanigans last summer, and played along with the “Defend Dean, Shame Castiel” storyline that left Castiel somewhat bitter towards Dean’s closest friends. But of the group of them, Charlie was always the warmest, and always the first to welcome Castiel back. She’s also the only one who keeps in regular contact on Facebook, and Castiel has a hunch that, now that Charlie is away from influences like Jo, he might be able to make her his own friend, instead of just a friend by proxy. 

Still. Castiel came out here to see  _ Dean _ . 

He stretches his arms up towards the ceiling until his back and shoulders pop loud enough to surprise a wince out of Dean. “I guess I would like to meet Dorothy,” Castiel mumbles, but he doesn’t bother to hide his disappointment, even as he leans into the grateful kiss Dean leaves on his temple. 

“I’ll try not to wake you when I get in tonight,” Dean promises. Castiel raises his eyebrows --  _ tonight!  _ \-- but Dean has disappeared through the door to the garage before Castiel can protest about him working  _ both _ jobs. Sam at least waves good-bye as he leaves through the same door, and Castiel can hear the Impala’s doors creak open, and the sound of her purring engine as Dean guides her out to the road.

Then, silence. Castiel is alone in the Winchester home, and the fact that it’s the  _ Winchester _ home just makes the quiet more awkward. The Winchester home is never supposed to be still like this. It should be full of people and laughter and the smell of good food. Now, Castiel can hear the bedsheets shift as he moves, and the creaky sounds of the old house settling. Castiel grew up with four siblings and shared a room with two other boys in a thinly-walled dorm at boarding school, so noise is something that life has forced him to adjust to. This past semester introduced him to the experience of having his own space, an entire apartment all to himself, and it was surprisingly lonely. Being left alone in a house where he’s always felt warm and welcome is unnerving, and Castiel quickly turns on the TV. It doesn’t matter what’s on, as long as there’s  _ noise _ .

He leaves the TV on as he showers and goes through the rest of his morning routine, and is pleasantly surprised to find that Dean left him a few pancakes on the stove, with a note on how to reheat them properly. No one left instructions on how to reassemble the couch, however, so he makes the bed up as best he can, and eats there, texting Daphne and Hannah as he waits for it to be late enough to text Charlie without being rude.

 

**Castiel:** Is it too early to ask to hang out?

**Charlie:** Of course not! Come over whenever you want!

**Charlie:** As long as my parents aren’t asleep anyway

**Charlie:** And you don’t mind my new girlfriend being here

**Charlie:** I was hoping you’d make some time for me!

 

Castiel smiles to himself and swings his feet off the bed to put his shoes on and dig his winter clothes out of his suitcase. 

It only occurs to him that he doesn’t have a car when he steps outside and the chill bites his cheeks and nose. He grunts in disappointment and pulls his beanie down further, until it better covers his ears; one of the downsides of shaving off most of his hair has been learning how much warmth it held against his scalp. Having been in Chicago the last few months, Castiel is at least prepared for cold weather, but he’s not really prepared to have to walk or run to Charlie’s house. As he told Dean, this isn’t sexy shorts weather. 

But he has no choice at this point, so Castiel heads down the front steps and starts a brisk walk towards Charlie’s house. At least it’s all downhill. 

He’s been to Charlie’s house once or twice before, and even has a very clear memory of making sugar cookies there the same day that Charlie came out to him and Bela, and they returned the favor by coming out to her. It was the first time Castiel had ever voiced those feelings out loud, and though he hadn’t been brave enough to admit those feelings were primarily aimed at Dean, he’s pretty sure that Charlie figured it out anyway. Charlie is smart, and the further Castiel gets from those awkward early high school years, the more he realizes how bad he was at hiding his crush. 

A stray thought drifts through his mind, a gentle reminder that everyone  _ but _ Dean knew how he felt, and maybe he should try to be a little better about expressing those feelings now that he doesn’t have to hide them anymore. He started figuring that out last summer, but still hasn’t quite made sense of how to do so. Especially because, as he discovered while he was experimenting with other partners, sex isn’t always something he enjoys. It’s just…  _ gross _ is the only word Castiel can think of. And it’s all the stranger he feels that way, because he  _ has  _ been intimate with Dean. Logically, he understands how that was kind of gross too, but it didn’t feel that way in the moment. Maybe when Dean was wiping come on Castiel’s shirt, but not when they were pressed up together, swept up in a couple years worth of suppressed emotions. Not when Castiel felt consumed by the heat of Dean’s proximity, when he looked between their bodies and witnessed the most erotic thing he never thought would happen to him.

That memory brings flutters in Castiel’s stomach, and he scowls at himself. That’s something he hasn’t felt in a while, and it’s annoying to be reminded once again that Ice Queen Castiel melts so easily for Dean Winchester. 

Castiel sighs as he finally approaches Charlie’s home, allowing himself to tidily put all those thoughts away as he climbs her front steps and knocks on the door. He even manages to smile when she throws the door open and practically leaps at him, pulling him into the house without ever letting him out of her embrace.

“I’m so glad Dean’s not keeping you all to himself,” Charlie babbles as she guides him towards the kitchen. “I told him, if you were coming out here, he’s not allowed to hide you away, he has to share at  _ least _ a couple times.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” Castiel mutters, but Charlie doesn’t appear to hear him. Instead, they walk into the kitchen, which Castiel has always secretly loved. It’s decorated in forest greens and pale browns, and the wallpaper is covered with chickens. It should be tacky, but instead it’s charming and homey, and never fails to make Castiel smile when he sees it. He’s so distracted by it, in fact, that Charlie has to clear her throat to get his attention, so she can introduce the pretty brunette sitting at the table. 

“Cas, this is my girlfriend, Dorothy,” Charlie says, unable to hide the pride in her voice. “Dorothy, this is Cas.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Dorothy says, standing and holding out a hand for Castiel to shake. He reaches to take it, simultaneously using his other hand to remove his beanie as he repeats the sentiment back to her, but he’s interrupted by Charlie’s overdramatic gasp. Castiel and Dorothy both turn to her in confusion, and all Charlie can do is point at Castiel’s head.

“Oh,” Castiel says. “You haven’t seen my hair yet.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Castiel Milton?” Charlie demands.

Castiel refrains from rolling his eyes. “I ate him. You’re next.”

After a beat, both Charlie and Dorothy break into laughter, and Castiel can’t help joining them. With the ice rebroken, the girls rope him into helping them make brownies, and Charlie can’t stop touching the soft fuzz on the sides of Castiel’s head.Dorothy says that she would be completely supportive if Charlie wanted to experiment with her hair that way. Castiel grins when Charlie blushes and turns away to put the brownies in the oven.

They head to the living room then, to watch a movie while they wait. Dorothy chooses Sweeney Todd, since she’s never seen it. Castiel hasn’t either, but after about twenty minutes, he starts to understand why Charlie winced when Dorothy found that DVD on the bottom shelf. 

His mind starts to wander, back to what he had been thinking about on the walk over. Still annoyed with himself, Castiel wonders if this is what sex-obsessed people feel like. Is it like this for Dean, and Balthazar, and anyone else who finds sex easy? Are the stereotypes about men true, that sex is all they think about? Castiel had never really thought about it at all, until he started dating. What does that say about him, as a man?

Thinking like this doesn’t achieve anything, but Castiel can’t stop these questions and fears from spinning around in his brain. It’s exhausting and frustrating, and he wants it to stop. He’s honestly a little glad that he’s kept this to himself; guaranteed, every one of his friends would be sick of him by now if he kept assaulting them with this constant, circular train of thought.

Unfortunately, Castiel also can’t deny that he’s anxious that what happened with his experiments at school will happen with Dean. Maybe those few times with Dean were the exception rather than the rule, and that’s all they’ll ever get. Though that doesn’t make sense either, since Castiel has been aroused by make-out sessions with Dean: hot, wet mouths and roaming hands, and Dean laughing against Castiel’s lips like he knows exactly what Castiel wants, even if Castiel doesn’t have a clue.

Castiel thinks of that laugh and shifts in his seat, surprised by the way his stomach drops again. He hasn’t experienced that feeling since… well, since August. 

He’s dragged out of his circular train of thought when the oven timer goes off. Dorothy is genuinely engrossed in the movie, so Charlie nudges Castiel’s shoulder as she stands. “Wanna help?” she asks, grinning wide, and Castiel doesn’t know why she needs help getting brownies out of the oven, but he follows her into her happy, chicken-covered kitchen anyway. 

“You were thinking way too hard for that movie,” Charlie comments quietly, opening the oven door. 

Ah, this is an ambush. Castiel starts to roll his eyes, but is distracted by the heavenly scent of baked chocolate. Charlie smiles again, setting the brownies on the stove, turning the oven off, then fixing Castiel with a knowing look.

“Talk to me. What’s your trouble?”

Castiel hesitates. “I thought you didn’t want our friendship to revolve around me and Dean?”

Shrugging, Charlie responds, “But we wouldn’t be friends if I didn’t offer to listen to whatever’s bugging you so much. I didn’t even know it was about Dean until you said that.” 

Castiel frowns and picks at his fingernails, unsure if Charlie would even be able to help, and unwilling to let this visit be co-opted by more Dean and Castiel Drama. Charlie huffs and rolls her eyes, pulling up a stool and settling in it, resting her chin in her hands and her elbows on the counter. 

“C’mon, Spock. Lay it on me.”

The old nickname releases some of Castiel’s tension, and he smiles fondly as he takes a seat on the stool next to her. 

He tells her what he told Dean, about sleeping with a few people and not enjoying it and learning very quickly that he’s not interested in anyone but Dean. He tells her about what happened a few weeks ago, where Dean slept with someone else and Castiel couldn’t handle it and set out to deliberately hurt Dean, which only made him more sure that he doesn’t want an open relationship. He tells her about what’s been on his mind lately, that his experiment only left him more confused, and he’s having trouble sorting out his feelings on sex versus his feelings on sex with  _ Dean _ . 

And he tells her something else, an extra detail that he wasn’t able to admit to Dean in the Impala yesterday.

“I want to apologize to your lesbian sensibilities before I say this.” Charlie giggles and wrinkles her nose, but gestures for him to go on. He takes a deep breath and lowers his voice, checking over his shoulder to make sure Dorothy is still engrossed in the movie. “But I… I had a lot of trouble…”

The words seem blocked in his throat, and it’s somewhat poetic or ironic or whatever the right word is; Castiel would care a little more if he wasn’t trying to figure out how to admit something this embarrassing. He rubs a hand over his mouth, then pointedly looks down at the counter, unable to meet Charlie’s confused gaze. He spreads his hands out, and focuses on them instead. It’s a little easier then, to whisper:

“I couldn’t get hard.”

He refuses to look at Charlie for a reaction, though he sees her hands mirror his own as she shifts in her seat and clears her throat. Castiel’s face is in flames; it’s painful to finally admit this out loud, and though he’s sure Charlie will do her best to help him, it’s still kind of a weird thing for a queer man to discuss with a lesbian. 

Charlie’s fingers twitch, and after a moment, she seems to figure out what she wants to say: “So… so did you not actually sleep with anyone?”

Confusion is better than disgust or laughter, so Castiel shrugs. “I figured it was nerves with Hannah, and she had changed her mind anyway, so we didn’t do anything. April was less forgiving, and I--” He swallows and makes a face where Charlie can’t see. “She gave me an option that didn’t require my penis and I took it.”

Charlie full on leans back in her chair and shudders, but is quick to put a hand on Castiel’s bicep and give a reassuring squeeze. “No judgement, I’m just not thrilled at the mental images. Go on.”

Castiel covers his eyes and tries again: “I bottomed with Inias because nothing was working, and I guess maybe that’s why I hated it. Daphne managed to make something happen, but it took forever, and I didn’t… I didn’t last long.”

He pauses for just a little too long, and Charlie prompts him. “And Balthazar?”

That’s part of what’s confusing. “It… wasn’t as easy as it usually is for Dean, but it wasn’t as difficult as it was for Daphne. I don’t think Bal ever even noticed that I struggled.” He finally lifts his head to look at Charlie, and she doesn’t flinch away. She looks back, and he only sees concern in her hazel eyes, so he grasps at it, and takes the lack of judgement for an invitation: “It might have been pure, furious adrenaline that got me through it. I’d never thought of Bal sexually before, and I haven’t since.” He touches the fuzz behind his ears, then shakes his head. “I’m not even sure I was thinking about him sexually when we were doing it. I was just angry, and I guess, apparently, that works for me.”

Charlie nods thoughtfully, then cuts right to the heart of the problem with, “So you’re worried this will repeat itself with Dean?” When Castiel nods, she continues: “I was under the impression that you guys were already fooling around. Has it been an issue before?”

Castiel shrugs. “We’ve kind of done some stuff, but no, it was never an issue before. Not with Dean.” He chuckles dryly, resting his chin in his hand. “Dean has it unfairly easy compared to anyone else.”

“Then why are you worried?”

“C’mon, Charlie.” He rolls his eyes. “You think that doesn’t hit a guy right in his ego? And I was reading up about, y’know, what might be wrong with me after what happened with Inias, and they say that insecurity can play a part in issues like this. The more often it happened, the more insecure I’ve become.”

Charlie raises an eyebrow. “Dude, what? You’re the most confident guy I know.”

Castiel blinks, then laughs aloud. “What the hell gave you  _ that _ idea?”

Charlie makes a sturgeon face and shrugs. “Your posture. The way you talk. You don’t take anybody’s shit, even Dean’s. You weren’t afraid to get Dean’s mom when he was going overboard. Maybe you don’t know, but that’s confidence.” 

Castiel has never thought of himself that way, so it’s a surprise to hear Charlie say it so easily. He’s constantly questioning his own motives, and the motives of everyone around him, and is never completely positive that his choices are the right ones. Doing what he believed to be right has cost him dearly in the past, and though he tries not to let that experience keep him from being a good person, red flags still pop up whenever he makes a decision. That’s  _ not _ confidence. 

Charlie snaps her fingers in his face and laughs softly when he jumps. “Did I break your brain?”

“I’m always surprised by what people think of me,” Castiel answers honestly. “It never seems to line up with what I think of myself.”

“That’s probably true for everyone,” Charlie concedes. “In good ways and bad ways. But back to my point: you’ve never had a problem with Dean before, so maybe this is you overreacting just a smidge.”

Castiel scoffs. “I’m not overreacting.”

“You kind of are,” Charlie says with a cheeky smile. “You’re not like Dean. You’re never going to have an Aaron, or whatever. When you were with those other people, you wanted Dean, and that’s why it was---” She coughs and redirects. “Why you were having trouble. I guess.”

That is a possibility. He kind of hates himself for it, but he knows that he finally managed to make things work with Daphne when he realized how much she looked like Dean; focusing on green eyes and freckles helped him work it out even though she had the wrong body parts. 

“Besides,” Charlie continues, “Dean’s not the kind of guy to pressure you if you’re not ready. If you don’t want to do anything, or if, y’know, you struggle, he won’t hold it against you.”

Also true. And Dean isn’t afraid to tell Castiel no if he thinks that Castiel might be pushing himself beyond his own limits, which, strangely enough, tends to make Castiel want him more. Still. “We’re going out of town this weekend. We’ve never been alone together for that long before, and the expectation---”

Charlie laughs outright. “C’mon, Cas, you know Dean better than that.” She gives him a playful slap on the shoulder and her grin widens when he winces. “He’s taking you out because he wants to take you out, not because he expects you to spread your legs for him.”

Castiel blushes despite himself, hissing Charlie’s name as she laughs at him again. So he opts to tease her back: “Y’know, you’re very lucky that you’ll never have to deal with erectile dysfunction.”

Charlie snorts. “You’ve never heard of lesbian bed death? That’d be a million times  _ worse _ .”

They both startle when Dorothy’s voice calls from the front room: “Never gonna happen, babe!”

Castiel blushes, realizing what Dorothy may have overheard, but Charlie just laughs and leans over to press a kiss to Castiel’s hairline. “Don’t worry too much, Spock. You’re supposed to be the logical one, remember?”

And, very suddenly, Castiel has the strange experience of realizing the many ways he has changed over the last few years. It was easy to be logical when all Castiel knew of life was what his family told him. He’s learned the hard way by now: it’s much more difficult to be logical where love and sex are involved.

 

*****

 

Castiel comes back to the Winchester home several hours later, loaded down with tupperware full of fresh cookies and fudge, an early gift from Charlie’s mom. The lights are on through the curtains over the bay window, so Castiel knocks on the door, not wanting to have to dig for the spare key if he can avoid it. 

It’s Sam who answers the door, and he beams as he reaches to help Castiel with some of his burden. “Where’d you get these?”

“The Bradburys,” Castiel answers, stepping inside and kicking the door closed behind him. “When did you get home?”

“About an hour ago. I was gonna heat up some of Dean’s leftovers from the other day, if you want any?”

Castiel ate a lot of popcorn and cookie dough today, so an actual meal sounds amazing, especially one made by Dean. He follows Sam into the kitchen and puts away the treats while Sam pulls a half-eaten tray of lasagna out of the fridge and places it in the oven. Then, they sit quietly at the counter, letting the scent of cheese and tomato sauce fill the air as they search for something to talk about. 

Castiel likes Sam, and he feels pretty confident that Sam likes him too. After this past summer, where Sam was the first person to validate Castiel’s feelings about Aaron, Castiel thinks they have a special connection of their own, though he hasn’t put his finger on how to describe it yet. They have a lot in common, more than either has in common with Dean, so it’s possible that’s where this feeling comes from. Or, perhaps, Sam is just the earnest and understanding kind of person that Castiel needs more of in his life. 

It’s just funny how Castiel can feel so fond of and close to a person, but have no idea what to say to him in casual conversation. 

Sam seems similarly perturbed, so Castiel finally gives in and asks, “How late do Dean and Mary usually get in?”

Sam makes a strange expression, a strained smile and distant eyes. “They’re both at the Roadhouse tonight, so pretty late. Ellen usually sends Dean home early on weeknights, since he has to take me to school and get to the garage in the morning. But if Mom doesn’t have to be at the bakery, she’ll usually stay past closing time to help clean up.” He sighs, rolling his eyes as he gestures at a dry erase calendar on the fridge, something Castiel must have seen many times by now but never really paid attention to. “That’s her schedule for the month. Dean’ll probably be back before 11, but Mom might not get in until 3 or 4.”

It’s only half past six now, and Castiel is suddenly struck by the kind of life the Winchesters live. The older two work as much as they can to make ends meet, and poor Sam is stuck at home by himself, to heat up leftovers and do his homework and watch a little TV, maybe, before he has to put himself to bed. What Castiel felt so uncomfortable in this morning, silence in the Winchester home, is something Sam experiences on a daily basis. 

While Castiel attempts to process this, Sam gets up and checks on the lasagna before turning to face Castiel, his cheeks a strange and ruddy color. “Can I ask you something?” He asks quickly, the words all running together as he leans against the counter. 

Confused, Castiel sits up a little straighter and nods. “Of course. Any time. Is this for homework? I’m pretty good at math, but I’m better at editing essays than writing them---”

“No, I’m done studying for tonight.” Sam pushes his hair out of his face and exhales roughly. “I wanted some advice about Jess.”

_ Oh _ . Castiel’s heart drops a few beats, an experience that’s nothing like when the beats skip: it’s not positive, it’s stumbling and painful. A precursor to racing heartbeat, breath, and mind, and all of these things have become somewhat common for Castiel over the last few months. Mostly in other people’s beds, but sometimes alone in his own, when he and Dean weren’t speaking, and yes, sometimes when his classes became overwhelming. He’d told Hannah about it in passing, and she had suggested talking to a doctor or counselor, but Castiel didn't see a need for that. It's not constant and it hasn't fully disrupted his life or anything. 

Though, he admits, it’s a little strange that it's happening now. Castiel doesn't feel qualified to give relationship advice, but that's nothing to panic over. 

He rubs at his chest and clears his throat, not meeting Sam’s curious gaze. “Are you sure I'm the right one to talk to? Dean or your mom might have a better grasp on the situation---”

Sam scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Sure, but they’re never here.” He opens the oven door again, finally pulling the lasagna out, then reaches up to the cabinet to grab a couple plates. “I try not to complain,” he continues, before Castiel can think of a proper response, “because I know they’re doing it for me.” He sighs and turns back to Castiel again. “Well, not entirely for me, I guess. The mortgage and keeping food on the table comes first, but I know Dean is putting money in a college fund for me.”

Sam falls silent for a moment, his face pinched in annoyance, and Castiel marvels at how unsurprised he is by this information. After all, Dean had told him years ago that he didn’t see a point in going to school, and would rather invest in Sam’s future. The fact that Dean has only bothered to take enough classes at the community college to get a mechanic’s license further proves his willingness to take a backseat to his brother. It’s sad and unnecessary, but Dean has never been the type to put himself first, whether it was for Sam or someone else. Dean is happy when everyone else is taken care of, and it doesn’t matter what he has to give up to ensure that happens.

Castiel should try a little harder to put Dean first, in that case. But, as Sam already knows, that would be easier to do if Dean were actually around. 

“I don’t mean to be ungrateful,” Sam says quietly, pulling Castiel out of his thoughts. “But when I go to Jess’s house for dinner, and her parents are there all the time... I wish I could have that. A  _ normal  _ family.”

“Everyone wants a normal family,” Castiel says without thinking. “I’m sure if you asked her, Jess could come up with things she would change if she could. Because ‘normal’ is meaningless.” He smiles when Sam huffs and starts doling out the cooling lasagna. “I’m in college now, Sam. That means I know everything.”

Sam smiles back, settling a plate and fork in front of Castiel, then taking a seat next to him. “I want a family that’s  _ present _ , then, smartass.”

“That, I can’t blame you for. I know a lot about absent parents and missing brothers.” Castiel takes a bite of food, allowing himself a moment to gather his thoughts. The lasagna is delicious, of course, and when Sam takes a bite off his plate, Castiel can tell they’re thinking the same thing: Dean is a wonderful cook, but his food tastes even better when he’s  _ there _ , blushing under everyone’s praise. 

“I don’t know what Dean’s told you about my family,” Castiel continues after a moment, “but my parents weren’t around much, and for a good portion of my life, my oldest brother was the closest thing I had to a parent. And he wasn’t always very good at it,” he adds with a small, derisive smile. Sam snorts and shakes his head.

“Sounds familiar.”

“Trust me, I’ve thought the same thing,” Castiel sighs. “And I was lucky. I had three other siblings, and I went to boarding school, so I was actually never by myself. And, to get back to what you’re talking about, I’m not thrilled that Dean dragged me all the way out here to ditch me for work. So, I think I understand how you feel. You’re not alone in feeling… alone.”

Sam looks at Castiel for a long time, and Castiel takes the opportunity to eat a little more. Despite the fact that he’s under Sam’s scrutiny, this silence is a little more comfortable. They understand each other, and in the same way Castiel felt relief when Sam stood by him last summer, he can see the relief on Sam’s face as he realizes that Castiel isn't going to placate him with excuses. 

So Sam smiles, and Castiel smiles back. They finish dinner without speaking, and whatever question Sam had to ask was apparently not as important as knowing that he is not alone. 

*****

Sam goes to bed after a few rounds of kicking Castiel’s ass on Mario Kart. It's pretty early, but tomorrow is his last day of class before midterms, and Castiel’s not sure of what time he and Dean are setting out on their road trip anyway, so it's better to be well-rested. Sam had put the pull-out bed away, but is nice enough to show him how it works before they say good night, and by 10:30, Castiel is dozing in his pajamas in the dark. 

He hears Dean come in through the garage at one point, but doesn't stir. Dean fumbles through the dark, obviously trying not to disturb anyone as he eats and changes and brushes his teeth, and not doing a very good job of it. Castiel smiles to himself, waiting patiently.

When he feels the bed dip behind him, he finally rolls over, reaching for Dean’s face and holding him still until Castiel can leave a chaste kiss on his lips. Dean breaks into a smile, like he can’t help himself, and says, “Thought I told you not to wait up for me.”

“Wasn’t trying to.”

“Ouch.”

Castiel steals another kiss, wrapping his arms around Dean’s torso to pull him closer. “I’m glad to see you, though.”

They’re pressed up tight, and Dean smells like stale dishwater and the mint from his toothpaste, and Castiel’s heart lurches in his chest when Dean’s eyes soften like he’s surprised to hear it. He quickly kisses Dean again, cutting off whatever self-deprecating response was going to come out of his boyfriend’s mouth. Dean responds better to gestures anyway.

And he responds beautifully to Castiel’s touch. He’s warm and solid in Castiel’s arms, resting a callused hand under Castiel’s sweater. Feeling Dean’s skin on his own lights up Castiel’s nerve-endings so quickly that his head starts to spin. Once again, Dean proves that he’s the only one with the right key for Castiel’s ignition, but Castiel is so thrilled by how  _ easy _ this is that he refuses to let himself overthink it. For  _ once _ , he’s not going to think too hard about it. 

Instead, he lets himself lean into Dean’s body and slip one of his legs between Dean’s. A gasp breaks their lips apart for a second, but Castiel’s not sure who made the noise, and he quickly seals their mouths together again, shivering as his tongue slides against Dean’s. 

It’s all Dean. Dean, Dean, _Dean_. Putting his hand in Castiel’s hair, pushing his hips into Castiel’s. He’s wearing ratty boxers that are just a little too small for him, so when Castiel drags his hand down Dean’s body, over his hips, he gets a handful of skin much sooner than he expects. Dean groans softly, and the sound shoots straight to Castiel’s groin. It’s so good to feel like this, to find it easy, and Castiel grazes his thumb against the fine hairs on Dean’s thigh, then guides his hand down to Dean’s knee, pulling it up over his own hip. This new, closer angle fits their cocks together so sweetly that they both react, and Castiel’s lips are vibrating from the taste of Dean’s moans, from the press-and-pull as they experiment with the alignment of their mouths. 

This is good, amazing really, which is why Castiel is surprised when Dean suddenly pulls away, his hand pressed firmly against Castiel’s chest. “Buh-wha-?” Castiel mumbles intelligently, trying to focus his vision as Dean untangles their lower halves. 

“Not like this,” Dean whispers. 

“Wha-?”

Dean chuckles softly, running his fingers through Castiel’s hair before settling firmly on his side of the bed, not touching any part of Castiel’s body. “You run hot and cold, you know that?”

Breath is starting to return to Castiel’s lungs, so he frowns, still perturbed as to why the hell they  _ stopped _ . “Usually cold, is what I hear.”

“Nah,” and Dean dismisses the notion so easily that Castiel can’t make himself be angry. His erection is annoyingly insistent, especially considering how stubbornly unwilling to work his dick has been lately, but Dean is smiling at him and Castiel relaxes into his pillows. 

“Why did you stop?”

“My brother’s right upstairs, and my mom could come through the door any minute.” Dean’s smile turns wry as he teases, “You do remember promising her that we’d behave under her roof, right?”

Castiel’s face heats up, and he turns to look at the ceiling. “Of course.”

“And we’re not going to be under her roof for the next few nights, so if you wanna mess around, it’s probably better to wait.” Dean shrugs, his movements rustling the blankets. “What’s another twenty-four hours?” 

They lay in silence for a moment, letting the night settle in. Castiel’s erection seems to have gotten the message and started to wane, so he hesitates before asking, “Can I hold you?”

“Are you gonna hump me in your sleep?”

“ _ Dean _ .” Castiel turns to admonish him with a glare, but Dean’s eyes are soft, his lips turned up with affection, and Castiel feels his own expression shift to match it. 

“Sure, snugglebutt,” Dean teases, even as he wraps his arms around Castiel’s torso, tucking his head under Castiel’s neck. “Sleep well.”

Castiel plays with Dean’s hair, moving it around until it doesn’t tickle his chin anymore, then relaxes back into the bed. “Sweet dreams,” he murmurs, watching the ceiling fan spin in the moonlight, until the shadows and Dean’s rhythmic breathing hypnotize him to sleep.

 

**December 20th, 2008**

Dean is up early again, to take Sam to school, but he comes back this time, letting the door to the garage slam shut behind him, startling Castiel off his pillows. 

“Come on, sunshine,” Dean laughs, dropping a kiss on Castiel’s temple before clapping right next to his ear. “We gotta get on the road!”

Castiel yawns and stretches while Dean heads for the kitchen, making way too much noise for such an early hour. It takes a few moments, but Castiel finally convinces himself that yes, they’re leaving town today, and yes, whatever Dean has planned will probably take some time, so they might as well get a move on. 

He’s a little more awake after a shower, shave, and brushing his teeth. He’s surprised to see that Dean has been cleaning up the kitchen, not making them breakfast, but Dean explains as he’s grabbing their bags, that they’ll be stopping at the bakery to say good-bye to Mary, and they can get breakfast there.

“Where are we going after that?” Castiel asks once they’re in the car.

“It’s a surprise,” Dean answers with a cheeky grin, and backs out of the driveway. 

Once they’re at the bakery, Mary gives them muffins and breakfast burritos and, most importantly, coffee, before telling Dean to drive safe and warning them not to kill each other. Castiel is confused by this, and Dean seems affronted, reminding her that they’ve been friends for years and there’s no reason a small vacation together will change that. 

Mary still looks skeptical. Later that night, Castiel will wonder if she’s just a little psychic.

It starts as soon as they’re out of Sileas. Dean asks Castiel to pull a shoebox out from under the passenger seat, which Castiel is surprised to find is full of cassette tapes. 

“I didn’t know they still made these,” Castiel remarks.

Dean scoffs. “Came with the car. Dad has great taste in music.”

“You don’t have an iPod set-up or anything?”

Dean frowns at him, looking personally offended. “Dad set her up with one before he gave her to me, but I’ve never used it.” He plucks a tape out of the box and pushes it into the deck. Almost immediately, guitar wails out of the speaker at a volume that makes Castiel wince, and Dean has to shout over it, “Who needs a goddamn iPod anyway? I might take the set-up out, make her cherry again.”

Castiel yells back, “Can we turn it down? I can’t talk to you this way.”

“I hear you just fine!” Dean shouts with a grin. “This is the only way to listen to Metallica anyway.”

Castiel remembers Mary’s skeptical look, and for the first time that day, feels a small tendril of dread drop into his stomach. He sighs and slumps in his seat, opting to stare out the window instead.

It’s better once they get to their first location… wich is a small parking lot near a river. Dean parks and turns the car off, and Castiel’s ears are ringing as he gets out and takes a look around. “Where are we?” he asks.

Dean pulls his coat tight around his shoulders and winks at Castiel as he closes his car door. “You ever heard of Lewis and Clark?”

“No, my twelve years of very expensive education managed to miss that important part of American history.” Castiel rolls his eyes as Dean laughs. “I never thought about it before, but I guess they would have ended their trip somewhere in Oregon.”

“Exactly. Here.” Dean gestures upstream, and now Castiel notices a sidewalk trail near the riverbed. “I thought we could take the hike up the Lewis and Clark River, until we get to Fort Clatsop. It’s about a half hour walk, but I thought you’d like to stretch your legs a little. We could go park up there, though, if you’d prefer?”

Castiel smothers his smile. “What’s at Fort Clatsop?”

“A recreation of what the fort would’ve looked like when Lewis and Clark decided to stay.” Dean shoves his hands in his pockets, looking shy with his shoulders hunched up by his ears. “I thought, y’know, you’re smart, so you’d probably like to see something educational. It’s pretty cool, I guess.”

“I guess,” Castiel repeats, pulling a beanie over his ears as he comes around the car and reaches for one of Dean’s hands. Okay, so Dean listens to his music painfully loud and is kind of inconsiderate about it. He’s also thoughtful and sweet, and Castiel smiles and intertwines their fingers, resolving not to sweat the small stuff.

The air is cold, but there’s no one else around, so their walk along the river is peaceful and pleasant. The fort itself is smaller than Castiel expected, only a few small buildings that he and Dean have to duck to enter, but he supposes that the crew was small and in a hurry to shelter up before winter came. 

After exploring the fort, they head for the visitor center to warm up before the walk back to the car. Castiel flips through a book about Sacajawea and her son, and is surprised when Dean cheerfully presents him with a small, plastic bag. Inside is a patch with an image of the fort against tall, green trees, and Dean explains, “You’re not a punk until you’ve got a jacket covered in patches.”

Castiel huffs a laugh. “Who said I wanted to be a punk?”

“Oh, I dunno, the hair? The piercings? Those expensive holes in your jeans?” 

“I’m not sure a National Park is very punk.”

“Punk is what you make it.”

Castiel kisses him, putting the bag with the patch safely in his coat pocket. “Thank you. I know exactly what to do with it, and it’s very sweet of you to think of me.”

Dean’s smile brightens up an otherwise dreary day, as they start their walk back to the car.

But once they’re back on the road, with the car engine purring and Dean’s Metallica tape at full volume again, Castiel starts to question just how sweet Dean can be. 

For over half an hour, Dean blasts his music, and sings along at the top of his lungs. He’s off-key, and it’d be cute if it wasn’t so annoying. Castiel stares out the window at the gray sky over the ocean, counting the white heads as they make their way towards the cliffs. It’s beautiful, but Castiel is so agitated that he can’t enjoy it, and he resents Dean for this, just a little. 

It’s not fair that Dean gets to bogart the music, and it’s not fair that he also gets to shut down any conversation they might have by playing his music so loudly. He doesn’t even seem to realize that Castiel is bothered by his behavior, which only bothers Castiel more. 

Frustrated, Castiel pulls out his phone. There’s still a slight signal, so he sends out a text to Daphne:

 

**Castiel** : This isn’t going well.

 

He waits a few moments, and when she doesn’t respond right away, he sends the same text to Hannah before turning back to the skyline, spinning his phone in his hands. Time passes, marked only by the changing songs on the speaker, and Castiel pretends his inner ears aren’t stinging. Finally, his phone vibrates with a response.

 

**Hannah** : What’s wrong?

**Castiel** : He’s practically ignoring me.

**Hannah:** Dean?

**Hannah** : What did you do?

**Castiel:** Nothing! He just decided he’d rather listen to his music than talk to me. 

**Castiel:** Why do you think I did something?

**Hannah:** You can be a little prickly. It’s not a bad thing.

 

Castiel frowns at his screen, and glances at Dean. He’s stopped singing, apparently focused on the curving road ahead of them. Rain has started sprinkling on the windshield, but Castiel can’t hear the wipers over the music, which spikes his irritation, for some reason. Maybe because he’s a little prickly.

 

**Castiel:** Thanks, I guess.

**Hannah:** If he’s mean, why are you dating him?

 

Castiel’s frown morphs into a soft smile. Hannah is like Castiel, in that she comes across much colder and more awkward and naive than she really is. It’s nice that, after realizing that they weren’t sexually attracted to each other, no matter how hard they tried, they still managed to find in each other a kindred spirit and a good friend. Hannah isn’t trying to be mean or harsh when she asks such questions; she has no romantic experience and so far seems uninterested in gaining any, so her question probably comes more from trying to understand Castiel’s interest in Dean. This isn’t even the first time it’s come up.

 

**Castiel:** I don’t think he’s mean, just inconsiderate.

**Hannah:** If he’s inconsiderate, why are you dating him?

 

Castiel glances at Dean again, and is surprised to see Dean is looking back. He quickly turns back to the road, and Castiel turns back to his phone, unsure of why his heart is pounding like he just saw something he wasn’t supposed to see. It could be anxiety again, but what’s there to be anxious over? Dean wasn’t doing anything, and neither was Castiel. 

Metallica keeps playing. Castiel stares at his phone until it vibrates again, this time with a response from Daphne:

 

**Daphne** : Are you okay?

**Castiel:** I’m fine, just annoyed.

**Daphne** : What’s going on?

**Castiel:** He’s playing his music too loud and doesn’t want to talk.

**Daphne:** Have you told him you want to talk?

**Castiel:** Yes.

**Daphne:** Did you really?

 

… Kind of. Dean had offered to talk over the music, and Castiel had shut down and sulked. Daphne wouldn’t be surprised by this if he told her. They became close due to being on the track team together, and as teammates, she knows Castiel’s weaknesses and likes to poke and prod him to improve them. As friends, she does the same. Usually, he appreciates both, but right now, it’s annoying to be called out that way, so Castiel switches back to Hannah’s question. It’s easier to talk about Dean than about himself.

 

**Castiel** : He’s not a total asshole. Sure, he’s being inconsiderate right this second, but that doesn’t define him.

**Hannah** : Then why are you letting it get to you?

**Hannah** : You and I don’t need to talk all the time when we’re together. Why is it so important with Dean?

 

This is true, and Castiel scowls outright, briefly wondering why he bothered texting his new friends anyway. He likes them because they don’t offer blind support the way Dean’s friends do. If he wants to bitch about Dean, he’s better off going to Balthazar or Meg. 

Actually, they wouldn’t be supportive either. Balthazar would take the opportunity to be crude, and Meg would pick and tease Castiel, using her own prickly nature to achieve the same end Hannah and Daphne are probably aiming for. 

Castiel’s phone vibrates again.

 

**Daphne:** Man up and tell him you want to talk.

**Daphne:** I know you.

**Daphne** : Tell him what you want, don’t force him to read your mind. That’s not fair.

**Castiel** : You’re not fair.

**Daphne:** Life’s not fair.

 

Castiel huffs and rolls his eyes. Daphne is a bossy know-it-all, but he adores her. He switches back to Hannah’s window again, then pauses when he realizes the car is actually quiet. He looks up, surprised, and turns to Dean.

“Everything okay?”

Dean doesn’t look back, and his voice is gruff when he says, “We’re almost there.”

“Almost where?” The road has turned away from the ocean. There’s nothing around except RV parks and trees.

“Lunch.” Dean smiles slightly and points as he pulls into the turn lane, and Castiel leans over to see. 

They’re turning into the parking lot for a large rectangular building, with a large ship outside, and the words “Tillamook Cheese” written on the side. Castiel furrows his brow. “This is awfully large for a restaurant.”

“It’s not a restaurant,” Dean laughs. “Well, not just a restaurant. It’s a factory. Kind of a big deal out here.” He grins at Castiel. “If you’ve ever had ice cream at the shop back in Sileas, you’ve had Tillamook.”

Castiel keeps his gaze on the building as Dean pulls into a parking spot, then reaches to pull his beanie on as the car shuts off. “That is pretty good ice cream.”

“Wait until you try their cheese.” 

As they walk across the parking lot towards the building, Castiel takes a moment to text Daphne and Hannah, to let them know that he’ll get back to them later. When he puts his phone back in his pocket, he notices Dean’s frown.

“What?”

Dean takes a breath, pauses, then, “Nothing.” His eyes are still hard as he shoves his hands in his pockets and leads Castiel through the automatic doors.

The crowd inside is surprisingly dense, considering it’s a school day, and Castiel reaches to grab Dean’s jacket sleeve so he doesn’t lose him. They’re assaulted by the white noise of constant conversation, and the multitude of smells from the dining area to their right, and the creamery to their left. Dean still marches forward, away from the food, so Castiel follows, past the children happily climbing into an orange bus, and up the stairs, beneath a sign that reads “Self-Guided Tours.”

Upstairs, Castiel can’t help his small gasp when he sees the large windows, and the machinery operating on the other side. “It really is a factory.”

Dean turns to look at him and smiles slightly. “Did you think I was kidding?”

“No, I just---” Castiel goes up to the window to peer down at the people happily working below, cutting and packaging what looks like cheese. Dean leans on the railing next to him, their shoulders pressed together. “I’ve never been to a factory before.”

Dean shrugs. “Not surprised. I thought you’d like this, though. Was kind of a hit with my grandma.”

Initially, Castiel bristles, but then he catches himself. That comment is just one of Dean’s dumb jokes, not an insult. “Your grandma is a pillar of good taste.”

“Obviously.” Dean grins outright, finally taking Castiel’s hand and turning him around to check out the exhibits behind them.

For a little while, it’s good again. They read up on the history of the company, the area, and cheese-making. Castiel is tempted by the ice cream cart nearby, but Dean leads him back downstairs, where they wait in line for free samples of fresh cheese. Castiel admits that he’s never been a big fan of cheese, and laughs when Dean clutches his chest, feigning horror, until Castiel says that he’ll make an exception for what they’re eating now. The curds and the Monterey Jack are particularly good, and once they break free of the line and into the store --- an actual  _ store _ ! --- Dean picks out a few packs of cheese to take home to his family with the help of the old green cooler he keeps in the backseat. Castiel, having a much longer wait before he sees his family again, settles for a few local jams, marionberry and mooseberry being the most intriguing of the bunch and the least likely to make it out of Oregon untouched. 

They decide to get lunch at the cafe before heading back out, and Castiel is easily persuaded to try a grilled cheese sandwich. He’s unsurprised when Dean picks a burger laden with garlic chili cheese. It’s a monster, and Dean eats like he always eats: thoughtless and messy. Castiel has learned to live with this over the years, and tries to keep his eyes on his own basket, but the other annoyances Castiel has had to put up with today have strained his patience for this one. Especially when Dean seems amused by his disgust, leaning in for a kiss while his breath stinks of garlic and bacon, and Castiel pulls away with a wrinkled nose and a dour frown. 

He’s uncertain if the hurt in Dean’s eyes is real or not, but Dean turns away and starts cleaning up their baskets before Castiel can decide how to proceed. When Dean returns from the trash can, Castiel suggests that it would be a shame to leave without trying some ice cream, and Dean visibly brightens. 

They order flavors they never would have thought to try before, things that aren’t available back in Sileas, and trade bowls in order to get the best experience. Castiel handles clean-up this time, and makes a stop in the restroom. When he comes out, he’s surprised to see Dean coming towards him from the counter, a cone of strawberry ice cream in his hand.

“I know it’s your favorite,” Dean says. Castiel’s heart skips a beat, and he feels heat rush up from his neck.

“Do we have time for me to finish it?”

“Well I’m gonna hit the head before we go,” Dean gestures at the restrooms, “but you’re a neat eater. Neater than me or Sam, anyway. Bring a bunch of napkins, and it’ll probably be okay.”

He looks like the words are being dragged out of his throat by pliers, but Castiel recognizes the gesture for what it is, and is appropriately humbled by it. 

In fact, Dean almost seems to have sussed out on his own that Castiel was upset by the loud music. He leaves the volume low enough to speak over after they get back in the car, but unfortunately, Castiel is so caught up trying to eat his ice cream without dripping on the seats that he can’t converse properly, and Dean slowly starts to raise the volume again in an attempt to fill the silence. By the time Castiel swallows the last bite, the music is at an ear-splitting level once again.

At least Dean has moved on to Led Zeppelin, this time. 

Castiel pulls his phone back out of his pocket, and opens up the windows to text Hannah and Daphne again. This time, he avoids complaining about Dean, and tries to keep the girls talking about other things: families, holiday plans, inside jokes from the track team or the Rainbow Alliance. 

Dean stops singing along at some point, but Castiel hardly notices. 

He’s not sure how much time has passed when Dean pulls into a small gravel overlook just off the highway, and shuts off the car. The music has almost turned into white noise by this point, and Castiel is jolted with surprise by the sound of silence. He looks up at his boyfriend, but Dean just coolly remarks, “Get your beanie.”

Castiel blinks. Dean huffs. “It’s cold out. Get your beanie.”

Still confused, Castiel does as he’s asked, and follows Dean out of the car. They stand at the wall, looking out over the ocean, the horizon only recognizable by the separation of light gray clouds and dark gray water. The wind whips around them, a pleasant, soothing sort of quiet after who-knows-how-long of Dean’s loud rock music. It’s peaceful. Castiel only recognizes the slowing of his heart because it feels like it’s been so long since it beat at a normal pace. 

He glances down at his side. Dean’s hands are shoved in his pockets. Annoyed, Castiel follows suit.

After a few moments of watching whitecaps, Dean roughly nudges Castiel with his elbow, then points down below when Castiel grunts in irritation. 

“What?”

“Just look!” Dean sounds almost giddy as he whispers, leaning over the side of the wall. “They don’t normally come out this time of year.”

Castiel peers over the wall at the rocks below, at first unsure of what Dean is talking about. Then, he sees movement. He squints, tilting his head, and realizes there’s some sort of animal down there. A few of them, in fact, and they’d blend in perfectly with the dark brown rocks if they weren’t moving their heads and tails around. “What are they?”

“Sea lions.” Dean is grinning wide and white, a little beam of sunshine on this gloomy day. “There’s a cave tour you can take to see more of them, but I’d heard they liked to hunker down in the winter, so the tour wasn’t worth the money.” He straightens his arms, stretching his back before looking at Castiel again. “We can still get last minute tickets, if you want?”

Castiel takes a deep breath, then looks down at the sea lions again. They’re kind of cute from a distance, but ultimately he doesn’t want Dean to waste his money.

“Maybe in the summer, we can give it a try,” Castiel says carefully. This appears to be the right thing to say, because Dean’s grin widens, and he leans over to press a kiss to the corner of Castiel’s mouth, which surprises Castiel enough that he smiles back. 

“Back on the road?” Dean asks.

“Back on the road,” Castiel confirms.

Back on the road, Dean immediately turns up Led Zeppelin again. Frustrated, Castiel turns back to his phone. 

At one point, Hannah even asks if Dean is okay with Castiel spending so much time texting his other friends, and it’s the first time Castel starts to piece together Dean’s in-and-out coldness. He even glances up to notice that, once again, Dean has stopped singing along with the radio, and his grip on the steering wheel is tighter than it probably needs to be. 

Dean catches him looking, and asks, “What?” 

But he doesn’t turn the music down, so Castiel huffs, shakes his head, and turns back to his phone. Why bother? If Dean hasn’t figured it out by now, then there’s little point in trying to explain why Castiel is so irritated.

The scenery turns from ocean to trees as the highway takes them away from the coast. Campgrounds, gift shops, RV parks, and finally small homes start to appear, before a town proper springs up around them. It’s quaint, not all that different from Sileas or Astoria, with colorful buildings and all the local, humble offerings of a small town.

Dean pulls into a gas station and seems to cheer up a little when the pump attendant compliments his car. While the attendant carefully fills up the tank, Dean turns to Castiel and says, “Bathroom might be a good idea, since we’re here.”

Castiel makes a face. “I’d rather not use a gas station bathroom.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “I’m sure it’s clean. A tiny tourist town like this, it’s probably privately owned.” The attendant chimes in that it is, and Dean gestures towards the station once again. “Some grandma probably cleans it four times daily and uses fresh potpourri. Just go if you gotta go.”

“I can wait until we get to a McDonald’s or something.”

“You’d trust a corporate franchise over a mom’n’pop store?” Dean accuses, his voice dripping with disdain that makes Castiel bristle. “That’s bougie as fuck.”

That one hurts, actually. Castiel has always known that their class differences were a point of contention with Dean, but he’s never been downright mean about it before. Teasing, sure. Condescending, unfortunately, also likely. But the expression on Dean’s face is somewhere between disgust and disappointment, and Castiel takes a second to process where this conversation has suddenly gone. Then, fueled by the righteous anger of the irrationally petty, Castiel crosses his arms over his chest and rolls his eyes. “I’m not using a gas station bathroom,” Castiel says slowly, enunciating every syllable and enjoying the sight of Dean’s slowly reddening face. “Deal with it.” . 

Dean’s eyes widen in surprise before narrowing again, both brows furrowed. “Well, I mean, if you’re gonna be a brat about it, I guess we could stop at a Mickey D’s. Can’t have His Highness pissing in some no-name gas station, nah. Gotta be the fucking Golden Arches. Some minimum wage punk is gonna be that much better at cleaning than a local business owner with a house on the line.”

Castiel fumes silently, biting his tongue to keep back all the angry things he doesn’t want to spit at Dean. Not now, not when they’re alone together for the next few days and there’s no escape. If Dean’s not going to hold his temper, if he’s going to call names, then Castiel will have to be the mature one and try to keep the peace by keeping quiet. While Castiel stews, Dean turns to the attendant, who has been nice enough to pretend not to overhear the rest of their argument, and asks if there’s a fast food restaurant nearby. Luckily for Castiel, there’s a McDonald’s just a few blocks south, still on the highway, and he can’t help smirking smugly as he gets back in the car after Dean has paid for his gas.

Dean obviously notices. He responds by turning the music up and mumbling to himself where Castiel can’t hear. 

The parking lot is packed, of course, and Dean complains about having to squeeze his Baby in where she might get scratched by some thoughtless tourist, but Castiel ignores him, instead leading the way into the restaurant, through the crowd and into the restroom.

Only to startle when he realizes Dean is right behind him. 

“You can’t be in here.”

“It’s a public bathroom, Cas. Anyone can be in here.” Dean rolls his eyes. Castiel’s chest tightens painfully, his heartbeat starting to climb. 

“Yeah, but  _ you _ can’t be in here with  _ me _ .” 

Dean raises that eyebrow again, green eyes taking in Castiel’s posture. He tries to catch himself, straightening his shoulders and pulling his hands apart, stopping himself from picking at his fingernails, but Dean notices, and he smirks as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“Cas, you never told me you were pee shy.”

Heat climbs up Castiel’s neck, into his cheeks, as he jerks back from Dean’s crude accusation. “I’m  _ not _ , I just---”

“Listen, it happens to a lot of guys---”

“It’s not about that---”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of! You can just---”

“Shut up! Just, shut up!” And it works: Dean shuts right up, but his eyes harden, so Castiel continues before Dean can cut him off “It’s  _ you _ . I don’t give a fuck about anyone else, I don’t want  _ you _ to see me like that. It…” He trails off with a sigh, frustrated with himself, with Dean, with  _ everything _ . “It’ll break the spell, or whatever.”

“Holy  _ shit, _ ” Dean wheezes, running a hand through his hair as a dumbfounded smile splits his face. “You’re not a marble statue, babe, and I’m not a fucking idiot.”

“I didn’t say you  _ were _ \---”

“I know that your body works the way it’s supposed to. Just like you know that mine does!”

“That doesn’t mean I want to  _ see _ it, or that I want  _ you _ to see it!”

Dean smile disappears as he drags his hands down his face, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling. “I can’t believe you’re being such a prissy brat right now,  _ Jesus _ .”

“Shut up, and stop calling me names,” Castiel says coldly.

Dean scowls. “Stop telling me to shut up.”

“Stop playing your music so goddamn loud!”

“Stop texting on your fucking phone!”

“Get  _ out _ !”

“This is absolutely fucking ridiculous, Cas---”

He cuts himself off when another man enters the restroom and stops short at the sight of them. And they probably are a sight, faces red and chests heaving, so Dean turns to glare at Castiel once more before throwing his hands up in surrender. “Fine. I’ll get a coffee while I wait.” On his way out, he pushes past the stranger, who silently turns back to Castiel with a curious eyebrow raised.

Castiel bites back the urge to tell him to fuck off, and finally, silently, steps up to the urinal. 

There are no problems, even with the stranger nearby, and he finishes quickly, which just fuels his anger even more as he finally steps out the door. Dean is waiting for him in a booth, and when he gets up for his turn without a word, Castiel’s temper spikes yet again. 

This is the last thing Castiel wanted when they set out on this trip, which already feels like it’s gone on much longer than not-quite-a-day. They shouldn’t have been so dismissive of Mary’s warning.

And okay,  _ maybe _ Castiel could’ve been a little clearer about the music thing.  _ Maybe _ he could have tried to talk to Dean about it, instead of burying himself in his phone. 

But it’s ridiculous that they’re allowing themselves to fall victim to petty, pointless fights after everything they’ve been through together. Surely, after Alastair, after Aaron, after concerts and therapy and bonfires and fake kisses and real ones, they won’t break up because Castiel is picky about bathrooms?

Dean finally comes out of the restroom, and when their eyes meet, Castiel’s emotions crash into each other, with annoyance, guilt, and worry the most prominent of the bunch. For a moment, they just look at each other, until Castiel’s shoulders relax and Dean smiles slightly.

“You want to grab a snack? I figure we’ll get dinner in Brookings, but that’s still a few hours away.”

Without thinking, Castiel wrinkles his nose. “At McDonald’s? No thanks.”

Dean’s smile drops. “You’ll use their restrooms, but won’t eat their food?”

“Are you kidding?” Castiel shakes his head and laughs softly. “I’m not even sure why you bought this coffee. Guaranteed there’s a Dutch Bros down the road that tastes better.”

Something like annoyance twitches in Dean’s jaw, but he doesn’t respond. “Back on the road, then,” he says tonelessly, grabbing his coffee off the table before leading the way back to the parking lot. 

Castiel’s not even sure what he said wrong. 

Back on the highway, Dean blasts Johnny Cash at top volume, and this time, Castiel knows it’s on purpose, and it eats at him. 

He could reach over and turn the volume down himself. He could apologize for isolating himself with his phone, which would allow Dean an opportunity to apologize for not understanding that Castiel actually did want them to talk to each other. Then, they could have a conversation about how poorly they’ve handled with their tempers, and how to better deal with each other’s quirks. This would be the mature thing to do.

Instead, Castiel seethes silently, and makes a show out of pulling out his portable charger so he can continue texting his friends.

Dean and Castiel don’t speak for the next hour or so. The tension ratchets up slowly, until Castiel is honestly struggling to take a breath over how much his anxiety is trying to choke him. That’s when he breaks, yelling over the music to ask if they can take a break in the next town to stretch their legs. To his surprise, Dean agrees.

A few moments later, the trees back away from the road to reveal a shopping center. The repeated name on handmade signs is Bandon, and Castiel figures it will do as well as anything. Dean turns the music down as he peers through the windshield, looking for a good place to pull off. When he comes across an archway that reads, “Welcome to Old Town Bandon,” he shrugs and directs the car under it, parking next to a grassy vacant lot. 

It’s quiet as they step out of the car, but Castiel can hear the crash of the ocean nearby, and smell the sea salt in the air. This must be similar to the boardwalk part of Sileas, a cutesy shopping area full of locally-owned restaurants and craft stores to pluck more money from tourists’ pockets as they attempt to enjoy the shore. Not a bad thing, in a small town. Everyone deserves to make a living.

Dean comes around the car, and without a word, they set off side-by-side down the brick walkway, to see what they can see. There are a few other people around, probably doing their last minute Christmas shopping before the kids get home from school, and they smile with the appropriate amount of Christmas cheer. Dean grins back, but Castiel can’t bring himself to do so, and feels a little guilty for it. 

They keep walking, Castiel barely even taking in the bright-colored buildings or the charming displays in their windows. He thinks it’s mostly restaurants, and while he’s a little hungry, he doesn’t dare say so after refusing Dean’s offer at McDonald’s. He can deal with a growling stomach for a little while longer. 

Eventually they turn right, and find the harbor and its boardwalk. Dean leads the way to the fencing, leaning up against it, and Castiel is suddenly struck by the gloom of that imposing gray sky, darker now as it hides the sun’s descent behind the horizon. It’s a realization that pierces his chest, and he feels like now he understands why people talk about the Northwest the way they do: high suicide and depression statistics, months and months on end of rain. It can get to a person, and in this moment, it gets to Castiel.

“I want to walk around some more,” he announces.

“Go ahead,” Dean answers.

“You don’t want to come?”

“I’m good here.” Dean turns and manages a small smile. He blinks, concern lighting his eyes as he reaches into his jacket pocket and, to Castiel’s surprise, offers him the car keys.

“What---”

“You forgot your beanie,” Dean points out, and it’s only then that Castiel realizes how cold his head is, that his ears are stinging. “Just promise not to run off and abandon me here after you get it.”

“Your mistake is assuming I don’t already have someone waiting to pick me up and take me to San Francisco.” Teasing comes back easily, and when Castiel jingles the keys, Dean actually almost laughs, and Castiel’s heart surges with affection for the crinkles in the corners of his eyes. “I’ll meet you at the car in, say, thirty minutes?”

Dean salutes, and turns back to stare out at the harbor. 

Castiel hurries back to the car to grab his beanie, checking three times to ensure he’s locked her before he carefully puts the keys in his jacket pocket and walks across the vacant lot towards the road. It’s all bars to his right, so since he’s only nineteen, he turns left. He’s not sure if he actually wants to buy anything, or if he just wants a moment to breathe and clear his head. He’s not bothered that Dean was so quick to suggest splitting up, because it’s probably good for both of them to take some space for a little while. Hell, just getting out of the car and taking a gulp of fresh air seems to have eased things between them, if only some. 

It occurs to Castiel that, if they can’t get through this short trip without biting each others’ heads off, then what hope is there when they decide to live together? Get married, raise kids? This is the first time they’ve spent this much time alone, and from the very start, they’ve been getting on each others’ nerves. 

Is that normal for a couple? Castiel can remember fighting with his siblings on trips as a child, and it never affected their relationship, but that’s  _ family _ . They had no choice but to be squished into cars and planes together, with no way to burn energy except to bug each other, and then still have to be forced to share space afterwards. Dean, however, does have a choice. 

Again, it seems silly to break up over texting and bathrooms, and Castiel’s certain that he doesn’t want to break up over radios and bad manners. But there’s a big picture here that Castiel is still piecing together, and that big picture may not bode well for them.

He passes a large beige building, nondescript except for the cheery sign hanging over the door: “Cranberry Sweets & More.” Castiel pauses, staring at the sign, then isn’t sure why he did so. Through the glass door appears to be a white sales floor, the kind of thing that’s been around so long that it’s flipped from charming, to outdated, then back to charming again. Wind pushes at Castiel’s back, making him shiver, and that’s when he decides to go inside.

He’s greeted immediately by the girl behind the glass sales case, displaying what looks like fudge or brownies. He waves back at her, then takes in the rest of the sales floor as she makes her way towards him. He’s the only person in the place, which is surprising this close to Christmas. Maybe everyone’s at work, and will stop by later, or sometime this weekend. 

“What can I do you for?” The saleslady asks cheerfully, as Castiel’s eyes fall on baskets of taffy, bags of candied popcorn, shelves of toys, and bottles of wine. 

“I mostly came in to get out of the cold,” Castiel answers honestly, “but I guess I could do a little Christmas shopping while I’m here.” He’s already bought gifts for the Winchesters, and has them sitting in one of his suitcases back in Sileas, waiting to be wrapped. But it wouldn’t hurt to add something sweet to the package, and maybe get some treats for his family too.

And, okay, maybe something for Dean. As an olive branch, of sorts. Food is always a good bet when it comes to Dean. 

“Well, let me know if you have any questions or want to sample something. And don’t forget to check out what’s upstairs,” the saleslady suggests, heading back to her position behind the counter. Castiel nods, and decides to take her advice, heading up a nearby set of stairs. 

There’s another saleslady and glass display case up here, this one filled with something colorful and sugar-crusted. He smiles, and takes a slow walk around the room. There’s more little trinkets up here, porcelain tea sets and tin snowmen shaped like marshmallows and tiny snow-dusted Christmas trees. Castiel quickly decides that he doesn’t want to impose dust collectors on Mary, so sweets are his best bet. 

It’s pretty easy after that. Different flavors of popcorn for his siblings, except Gabe, who gets a large bag of taffy. A variety pack of fudge for Sam, and after taking an offered sample of the sugar-crusted fruit-flavored candy upstairs, he picks a box of that for Mary.

In his rounds, he keeps coming back to a small sample tray downstairs, full of little white candies labeled “Pumpkin Pie.” Finally, the saleslady notices, and prompts him to go ahead and take one.

“Oh, no,” Castiel says. “It’s not for me, but… my boyfriend loves pie. I’m not sure if he’d like candied pie, though.”

“It tastes just like actual pie, only smaller and maybe a little sweeter. So I’m sure he’ll love it.” She smiles brightly and gestures to the boxes behind the sample tray. “And we have gift boxes with all our flavors!”

“All?”

“The pumpkin, of course, plus lemon meringue and apple!”

Castiel hesitates, then checks his phone. He’s about to be late meeting Dean, so he sighs and says, “Okay, I’ll take a big box and a small one.”

“Both?” The saleslady asks. 

Castiel grins. “One for now, and one for later.”

She rings him out quickly, and once he’s loaded up with his bags, he thanks her for her time and hustles back down the sidewalk towards the car. He’s only a few minutes late, but Dean is already leaning up against Baby’s door, the kind of rebel-without-a-cause image that Castiel likes to use to tease Daphne into being jealous. He half wishes his hands weren’t full so he could take a picture to send her.

Then Dean looks his way, and outright laughs. “Did you forget some Christmas presents?”

“Nah, just adding to the pile. I’m generous like that.” Castiel lifts one arm. “Keys are in my jacket pocket. Let me in the trunk?”

Dean digging in his pocket for the keys feels like a normal sort of intimacy, and that’s better than where they were before, so Castiel lets himself enjoy it. They load the bags into the truck, but then Dean doesn’t move, so Castiel doesn’t either. They lean up against the car, looking at one another for a long moment. Castiel wonders if Dean is going to kiss him, and is surprised to realize he wants him to. But eventually the tension starts to turn sour, as if each is waiting for the other to make the first move but is only getting agitated the longer he has to wait. 

In an attempt to salvage this chance, Castiel reaches back into the trunk and pulls out the small box of pie candy. Dean raises his eyebrows when Castiel hands it to him, and breaks out in a small but sunny smile when he reads what’s written on it. “Seriously, Cas?” He says in a teasing tone. “You spoil me.”

“You could let me drive for an hour or two, so you can enjoy it,” Castiel teases back.

Dean pulls his keys in tight against his chest, shaking his head. “Nobody drives Baby but me.”

Which is fair, especially considering Castiel hasn’t driven much since starting school anyway. Baby is an old boat who needs a special touch. So Castiel picks another button to push: “You could at least let me pick the music, in that case.” 

He’s not sure what he expects from that. Maybe more teasing, at the very least. But Dean wrinkles his nose and slams the trunk closed, startling Castel. “Nah,” says Dean. “I’d rather not be subjected to Terror at the Toon Town or whatever the hell you’ve got on your iPod.”

Castiel bristles. He tells himself not to, tries to pretend that this doesn’t bother him, because Dean is always making fun of modern bands, so there’s nothing new about this. 

Except that Dean has been an asshole about his music all day long. So instead of this being an affectionate joke that Dean knows will make Castiel laugh, it’s another piece of annoying shit thrown on top of an already large and rancid pile. 

Castiel scowls. He can’t help himself. Dean notices immediately, and pulls his box of candy closer to his chest, as if he’s afraid Castiel will take it back from him. 

“Because God forbid you be exposed to something outside your comfort zone,” Castiel snaps, his voice quiet and dripping with disdain. Before Dean can respond, Castiel turns around and gets in the car, slamming the door behind him. It takes a minute for Dean to follow, but when he does, his expression is hard, as if he’s annoyed by Castiel’s annoyance. 

He carefully places the box of candy in the backseat, next to the old green cooler that’s holding their cheeses and jams. Castiel softens a little at how gently Dean is treating his gift.

Then Dean turns on the car, and quickly turns his music up to top volume. Castiel actually can’t hold in his frustration any longer, sighing with it and pulling his beanie down over his ears to try and block out some of the noise. By the time Dean pulls back onto the highway, Castiel is back on his phone, letting Meg try to soothe him with stories about her little sister’s antics.

The highway moves away from the coastline again, and while the trees in Oregon are certainly beautiful, it’s easy to get bored of them after a while, especially as the sky slowly darkens. The tension rises to such a point that Dean eventually shuts his music off, allowing silence to fall instead. Castiel refuses to be the one to break it. That would be surrender, and his pride won’t let him do it.

Dean certainly tests him, though. Sighing and grunting and muttering to himself, clearly agitated, and making stupid, offended noises whenever Castiel pulls out his phone. Castiel wants to yell at him, tell him to either shut up or apologize, but he also doesn’t want to be the one who instigates the fight. Though, by this point, it feels like they’ve been building up to a fight all day. It won’t matter who finally lights the match when they’ve taken turns pouring the gasoline. 

Castiel breathes a sigh of relief when they pass a large building that reads, “South Coast Lumber Company Welcomes You to Brookings, Oregon.” Dean shifts, and finally breaks the overwhelming silence by asking, “Ready to eat?”

“Yes.” Pause. “Have you been here before? What kind of restaurants are here?”

“The only thing you can rely on are bars and burger joints,” Dean says in an arrogant tone that’s normally charming, but today just makes Castiel roll his eyes.

“After the cheese and the ice cream, I’m really not interested in some burger oozing with grease,” Castiel says. 

“C’mon, Cas! Testing out the local burgers is part of the road trip adventure.”

“No,” Castiel says firmly. He can practically hear Dean’s irritation rising. “Surely a place near the ocean has sushi.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

Ah. Here it goes. Castiel is almost relieved. “Yes,” he says in a cool tone. “It won’t kill you to try something new for once, Dean.”

“But fucking  _ sushi _ ?” Dean huffs, his shoulders rising up towards his ears. “This ain’t New York City, Cas, and I ain’t one of your high class friends.”

“I don’t even live in New York anymore,” Castiel snaps, “and sushi isn’t ‘high class,’ it’s just sushi.”

“Only rich people eat raw fish, Cas. The rest of us know how expensive it is to treat salmonella.”

_ That _ gets under Castiel’s skin. “First of all, false. Sushi is eaten by  _ everyone _ in Japan, and it can be eaten by  _ anyone _ in America, including people in small towns in Oregon. Second, it’s incredibly uncommon to get diseases from sushi, and you can fuck yourself with your class issues.”

“O-ho!” Dean chuckles humorlessly. “You can fuck right off with your snotty attitude.”

“You’re such a dick!”

“Yeah, well, your face is… is a dick!” 

Castiel scoffs as Dean rubs a hand over his face. “Burgers are the only thing I’ve seen you eat when we go out, Dean. Variety is the spice of life.”

Dean opens his mouth, and a chill runs down Castiel’s spine when he closes it again, apparently rethinking whatever cruel thing he was about to say. Instead, Dean smacks his hand against the steering wheel and says, “You can get plenty of variety on a burger. Breads, cheeses, toppings, it’s as flexible as pizza.”

“We don’t have to get sushi,” Castiel tries again. “We could get Italian, Mexican, maybe Thai.”

“ _ Thai _ ?” Dean groans. “Jesus, Cas, just cut my balls off and put ‘em in your purse.”

“What are you  _ talking _ about?” Castiel throws his hands in the air. “All I want is to not eat a stupid burger! Don’t act like I’m emasculating you or fucking whatever the fuck this is about. It’s just  _ food _ !”

“It’s  _ not _ just food, and you know it!” 

“Do I?” Castiel stares straight-ahead, even as his dark, low tone catches Dean’s attention enough that he turns away from the road to stare at him. “Like the shit with the radio isn’t  _ just _ about your music?”

Dean sinks back in his seat. “Shut up.”

“Don’t tell me to shut up.”

“Don’t be a fucking hypocrite, you’ve been telling me to shut up all day.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “Fine.  _ Fine _ . Go wherever the fuck you want for dinner. This is fucking pointless, and I’m done arguing about it.”

“Fine!”

“ _ Fine _ !”

“Fine,” Dean grunts, insistent on getting the last word, and Castiel gives it to him, stubbornly turning to stare out the window at their dark surroundings, and call Dean every nasty name he can think of in his head. 

Dean picks a place called The Vista Pub. It’s right off the highway, easy to get to, and of course, serves burgers. Both the hostess and their waitress pick up on the table’s mood immediately, and do their best to smile brightly like nothing’s wrong, and serve them quickly to get them out before the powder keg erupts. 

Castiel orders a salad. He can practically see the flames exploding behind Dean’s eyes, but Dean doesn’t say a word, so Castiel doesn’t either. 

Dinner is silent. They split the check, but Castiel drops a twenty dollar bill on the table before they leave, and Dean huffs and hurries out to the car. Castiel is honestly a little shocked that Dean bothers to wait for him; after this awful, hellish day, he wouldn’t be surprised if Dean jetted off back to Sileas without him. Castiel could probably afford the taxi costs to get to a nearby airport, and Dean knows it. Getting away from the tension would almost be a blessing, at this point. 

The car ride is silent too, as it has been all evening. Unfortunately, the sun has set, so Castiel can’t see their surroundings, but he keeps himself from texting. The light from the screen would be too bright, and on such a winding road, Castiel would rather not be any more of a distraction than he already is.

They cross into California not too long after leaving Brookings, and after about another ten minutes, Dean announces, “We’ll get a room in the next town.”

Castiel doesn’t respond. Dean sighs, and if there were any lights, Castiel is sure that he’d see Dean rolling his eyes.

Luckily, Crescent City isn’t much farther, and within fifteen minutes, Dean is pulling under the awning outside a little place called The Penny Saver. As he puts the car in park, Castiel reaches for his wallet.

“What are you doing?” Dean demands. Castiel looks up, confused.

“I’ll get the room. It’s okay.”

“It’s a cheap room, I can get it.”

Castiel frowns. “Is this more bullshit about my family’s money?”

Dean scowls back. “There wouldn’t be any bullshit about your family’s money if you weren’t trying to spend it all the time.” He blinks, seeming to catch himself, then sighs and tries again. “Just let me pay for this.””

“You don’t have to.”

“I’m not your kept boy, Cas!”

At that outrageous accusation, Castiel opens the car door and slips out, without another word. As he walks around the car, he can hear Dean shutting her off and getting out behind him, so he starts to run. It’s a race for the lobby, which Castiel thinks is an easy win. Not only does he have a head start, but he runs for fun and sport. Place your bets.

But, he’s been stuck in a car most of the day. His legs are stiff and uncooperative. And, apparently, Dean is more driven by his anger than Castiel could possibly be. 

Dean sweeps through the door, rudely allowing it to shut in Castiel’s face, and by the time Castiel finally makes it to the desk, the attendant has Dean’s card and ID in hand, and Dean is smirking smugly. Castiel glares daggers at him.

“I was trying to be nice,” he hisses.

“Well, don’t,” Dean snaps back.

The attendant looks up and glances between them, smiling. “Two of you? Do you want a king or two queens?”

Dean opens his mouth, but Castiel cuts him off: “Two queens.”

They’ve slept curled up together for the last two nights, but Castiel doesn’t want to even bother with that tonight. Maybe a little space will be good for them, and they’ll wake up ready to start anew in the morning. All Castiel knows for sure is that he doesn’t want Dean to touch him right now, or tonight. He’s not sure what he’ll do if Dean tries. 

Dean glares at him and whispers, “I only see one queen.”

Castiel smirks. “Really? So do I.”

He stares pointedly at Dean until the insult lands. As soon as he sees that tell-tale twitch in Dean’s jaw, Castiel turns and walks back to the car. Dean returns a few minutes later, mumbling to himself as they climb back inside to find a parking spot near their room. 

As has been the case all day long, they don’t speak as they unload the car. They each grab their own bag, Dean grabs the green cooler, and they make their way upstairs. 

The room is small, clinical and clean. Not the same standards of size and comfort that Castiel is used to, but he doesn’t dare to say so. Even as a joke. 

Dean stands in between the two beds for a long moment, staring at the one to his left, before suddenly turning and dropping his bag on the one to his right. When he asks if Castiel wants the bathroom first, the sound cuts through the silent tension like a knife through a string, and Castiel sags under the weight of this awful, awful day.

He nods, and quickly grabs his pajamas and toiletries out of his bag before heading to the bathroom and locking the door. A shower sounds pleasant, but he opts to wait until morning; Dean is waiting to change and brush his teeth and probably use the toilet, so it seems rude to make him wait even longer. 

Castiel rushes to get ready, and when he steps out in his flannel pants and oversized sweater, he catches Dean looking at him with an expression that he doesn’t recognize. Almost guilt, but not quite. Forlorn might be the best word.

Castiel doesn’t want to think about that. 

Instead, he heads straight for his bed and lifts the covers. “Your turn,” he says quietly, reaching for his phone as he climbs in. He hears Dean sigh, but doesn’t respond. There’s a new message notification on his phone, so he focuses on that as he hears the bathroom door click shut.

 

**Meg:** Did you finally kill each other?

**Meg** : Dibs on whoever survived.

**Castiel** : You’re hilarious.

**Meg:** Awesome, I was hoping it’d be you. Pretty boy is a little too pretty for my tastes.

**Castiel** : And I’m not?

**Meg** : I plead the fifth.

**Castiel** : Thanks.

**Meg:** I’m guessing by your sarcasm you didn’t actually kill him.

**Castiel:** No. I’m glad this day is over. Maybe when we wake up, it’ll be better.

**Meg:** Why are you always such a chickenshit?

**Castiel:** I didn’t do anything!

**Meg** : lol k

**Meg:** Nut up, tell him what you want, apologize, and move on. That’s all I’m going to say.

 

Castiel frowns at his phone, briefly glancing up as Dean emerges from the restroom in his paint-covered shirt and worn out boxers. His legs are pale in the lamplight, and Castiel realizes that this is the first time he’s ever seen Dean’s legs like this. Dean doesn’t wear shorts, even in the summer. He wears long trunks to the beach. The boxers he wears to bed are a little too small, ending closer to his hips than his thighs, but the last couple nights, Dean has crawled into bed after the lights are out, after Castiel is already tucked in, denying him the chance to see them. Unbidden, the memory of touching the hair on those thighs leaps into Castiel’s mind, and he blushes hot, surprised at himself. He quickly turns off his lamp and rolls over to his other side, phone still in hand. Behind him, Dean sighs again. Rustling noises follow, then a click as Dean’s own lamp goes out. 

The room is dark. Castiel hears Dean shift in his bed, but no more. 

If Castiel is a chickenshit, then it’s a small comfort to know that Dean is too.

 

**Castiel:** Maybe in the morning. I think the wounds are too raw now.

**Meg:** Wounds? You’re not fighting a war, Clarence. 

**Castiel:** It feels like it.

**Meg** : Don’t be a baby.

**Castiel:** I didn’t like him today. We’ve been through a lot, and while there are times he probably deserved it, I’ve never not liked him before.

**Meg:** omg gross

**Castiel:** Gross?

**Meg:** You’re gonna make me say it.

**Castiel:** Say what?

**Meg:** Do you still love him?

Castiel is surprised at the way that question ignites indignance in his bloodstream. 

**Castiel:** Of course I do. He’s still Dean, this is just… a side of him I don’t like.

**Meg:** I hear that happens in relationships, sweetheart.

**Meg:** Welcome to the end of your honeymoon. 

**Castiel** : Don’t patronize me. 

**Meg** : Don’t be a chickenshit. Nut up.

 

Castiel is typing out a response to her when, suddenly, his phone isn’t in his hands anymore. Confused, he thinks at first that maybe it slipped out of his hands onto the bed, but then he hears a grunt of frustration, and he realizes what’s happened.

“Dean,” he says carefully, “give me back my phone.”

“I can see the light on the walls, and it’s driving me crazy,” Dean complains. “Who are you texting that’s so important?”

“Meg.”

“Is that who you’ve been texting all day?”

“Her, and Daphne, and Hannah. ”

“You’d rather talk to them than to me?”

Furious, Castiel sits up at that accusation. “ _ You’re _ the one who played his music so goddamn loud I couldn’t talk to you!”

“If you’d  _ said _ something---”

“I  _ did _ say something!”

“Once! I thought you were  _ kidding _ ! I was mostly kidding, but then you just started texting like I wasn’t fucking there, like it didn’t matter that we were doing this cool thing together…” 

Dean trails off, his anger morphing into sadness and confusion. But before Castiel can process what’s been said, the quickchange of emotions, Dean’s sadness and confusion turns right back into anger, and he hurls Castiel’s expensive iPhone at the wall. It hits with a thud, then falls flat against the carpet, and Castiel stares in shock before throwing his covers back and getting out of bed, shoving Dean’s shoulders.

“Why would you do that?” He demands, trying not to yell and unsure if he succeeds. “That’s a five-hundred dollar phone! And you just…! What if you broke it, Dean? What if you cracked my screen, are you going to pay for the replacement?”

“So you’re just gonna be pissed off about the phone, is that it?” Dean sneers. “A cracked screen is your takeaway from this?”

“It’s a glass screen! They  _ break _ !” Castiel starts towards the wall to retrieve his phone, but is stopped when Dean grabs his arms. “Let go.”

“After this absolute shitshow of a day, you’re really gonna focus on your fucking phone right now?”

“Let me go, Dean.” Castiel enunciates each syllable carefully, surprised by the darkness and threat in his own voice. This isn’t just about his phone, it’s about this whole damn day. It’s about Dean’s disregard for his preferences, for his things, his wishes. The phone is a catalyst, and if Dean doesn’t let go, Castiel doesn’t know what will happen next.

One second, they’re staring at each other in the darkness, breathing loud over the silence, each waiting for the other to make the next move and decide which direction this goes.

The next second, Dean’s lips are on Castiel’s, his hands forceful like they’ve just passed through the eye of the storm and now have to deal with the winds, rain, and lightning. At first, all Castiel can do is take it; this is such a shock, such a change from the way things have been all day long, that he can’t quite process what’s happening until Dean twists them around and pushes Castiel back onto the bed, crawling on top of him and kissing him again.

So Castiel responds with as much fury as he can muster. He opens his mouth and sucks at Dean’s tongue when it accepts the invitation. He pushes his hands under Dean’s shirt and digs his nails into his skin, not quite sure what he’s doing except that he likes the give in certain places on Dean’s body. He’s soft and pliable, and Castiel can feel the gooseflesh rising on Dean’s skin when he trails his fingers over Dean’s belly. 

Call it instinct, or perhaps the slotting in place of a final puzzle piece, but that’s when Castiel realizes what this is. It hits him all at once: the bruising push of Dean’s mouth, the rough trails of Dean’s fingertips, the weight of Dean on top of him, and a little voice in Castiel’s head says,  _ oh _ . 

This is just a different kind of fighting. 

Dean’s hands skitter up Castiel’s arms, and that little voice says,  _ he’s winning _ , and Castiel’s pride won’t allow that. 

Castiel hooks his leg around Dean’s knee, then pushes his hips up. His half-hard cock presses up against Dean’s, and when Dean breaks away to moan, Castiel uses his leverage to flip them over, pinning Dean to the bed by his wrists. 

Dean blinks up at him, then breathes, “Oh.” 

Castiel hesitates, unsure of what to do now. Dean shifts underneath him, but doesn’t attempt to get away. In fact, his eyes are still wide and his breath is short, his pulse thrumming underneath Castiel’s palms. Anticipation.

_ Oh _ .

Castiel moves his hips again, now with better leverage, and Dean’s eyes roll back into his head. “Fuck,” Dean says, “take your clothes off.”

Castiel leans in and sinks his teeth into Dean’s neck, surprised at the thrill that runs through him when Dean whimpers. “Don’t tell me what to do,” he warns, voice dark and forceful.

Dean keens, his lower lip between his teeth as he rolls his hips. “C’mon,” he whines. “I’ve never seen you naked before.”

“You won’t see me now,” Castiel responds, moving one hand to the hem of Dean’s shirt, slowly dragging it up over his stomach and chest. “It’s too dark.”

That’s apparently too much for Dean. His hand, now free, reaches up for Castiel’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss. Castiel grunts, his lips swollen and sensitive, but he quickly melts into it. Dean has that effect on him, and as long as his body continues to respond, as long as his cock continues to swell under Dean’s attention, Castiel isn’t going to complain. 

Dean nibbles at Castiel’s lips, and after gripping Castiel’s hair, distracting him with a gentle tug, he manages to free his other hand. Now, he uses both hands to pull Castiel’s sweater up, and Castiel allows him to remove it and toss it aside. Dean drags both hands down Castiel’s torso, and in the darkness Castiel can’t see the hunger in his eyes, but he can feel it in the greed of his touch. 

It feels  _ good _ to be wanted, and that thought surprises Castiel. He was too self-conscious with his other partners at school to worry about whether or not something felt good. Hell, he was too self-conscious to know if those partners really wanted him, or if any warm body would have done the trick. But he  _ knows _ that Dean wants  _ him _ , because Dean is in love with him. It’s the same reason Castiel wants Dean, and it’s so good to feel certain and positive about something, that Castiel almost forgets that he and Dean have been fighting all day. 

That’s a mistake.

One minute, Castiel is arched over Dean, sucking bruises into his neck; the next minute, he’s been flipped over onto his back, pinned by Dean’s weight on his stomach as Dean tears his own shirt off, then starts making quick work of his boxers. At first, Castiel lifts his hips when Dean reaches for his pajama pants, eager to get a move on, but then he blushes hot at the realization that they’re going to be naked together, and subconsciously tries to hide himself when Dean sits up to look at him.

He can hear the grin in Dean’s voice. “Don’t be shy, now. I’ve already had that thing in my mouth.”

Castiel scowls at Dean’s casual, arrogant tone, then he reaches up to grip the back of Dean’s neck, dragging him down for more kissing. His lips sting, but that’s dampened by the feel of Dean’s bare torso pressed against his own. Their nipples brush when Dean shifts to cup Castiel’s face, and Castiel gasps softly, his hips jerking up. Dean’s cock isn’t quite close enough to rub up against, but Dean notices the reaction and chuckles darkly into Castiel’s mouth, stroking his thumb over the sensitive underside of Castiel’s chin. 

There’s victory in the sound. Castiel can’t stand for that. He swiftly flips them again, and Dean grunts when his back hits the mattress. He blinks up at Castiel in surprise. “What the---”

“Don’t be a brat,” Castiel hisses, running his hands through Dean’s hair, over his ears, down his neck, chest, belly, as he aligns both of their cocks, gripping them in his hand. Dean’s breathing picks up instantly, while Castiel’s fingers shift and adjust for the best hold. 

“Don’t call me names,” Dean stutters, jerking his hips when Castiel still doesn’t move his hand. “C’mon, what’re you waiting for?”

Castiel leans down, rotating his hips and exhaling softly as he presses his lips to the junction of Dean’s jaw. “You called me names first.”

Dean whines, reaching for Castiel’s shoulders, but Castiel has finally figured this move out, and quickly pins one of Dean’s wrists with his free hand. Dean’s eyes widen again, and he looks up at Castiel as if he’s never seen him before. 

Licking his lips, Dean takes a deep breath and says, in a shaky voice, “Yeah, ‘cause you’re a bougie prude.”

There’s no heat behind the words. In fact, Dean’s skin seems to be thrumming, and there’s a hint of anticipation hidden behind the insult. Like he wants something. Castiel raises an eyebrow, still slowly cycling his hips into the tunnel made by his hand. Dean squirms under the friction, or maybe under Castiel’s scrutiny, or maybe even both. “Not convincing me you’re not a brat, Dean.”

“You’ll pee in fast food bathrooms, but think you’re too good for their food. I’m shocked you didn’t fight me on the motel.”

Annoyance zips through Castiel’s brain, but now he thinks he understands. This morning, all day, the fighting was real. They got on each others’ nerves, under each others’ skin, and said things they didn’t mean. Now? It’s a game. Dean is pushing Castiel and hoping to get some sort of sexual satisfaction out of his reaction. 

And Castiel decides he’s willing to play along. He’ll tap into his irritation and use it. Maybe it’ll make things easier in the morning.

He squeezes Dean’s wrist, and Dean whimpers, still trying to jerk his hips under Castiel’s weight. “Shut up,” Castiel orders, voice low and dark.

Dean whimpers again. Castiel keeps fucking his fist, the veins and ridges of Dean’s cock just adding to the sensation. There’s something intensely intimate about thrusting their cocks together, something that wasn’t there with any of Castiel’s other partners. Not even Balthazar, strangely enough, considering they did the same thing. Dean drags that passion out of Castiel, that desire, that intensity, in a way no one else does. 

“You,” Dean tries again, trailing off with a soft moan. His breathing is still heavy and erratic, and he gasps before continuing, “You don’t appreciate good music.”

He also irritates Castiel in a way no one else does. “Shut up.”

“You don’t appreciate good food.”

“Shut---” Castiel releases Dean’s wrist, and firmly presses his hand over Dean’s mouth, “---  _ up _ .”

To his surprise, Dean makes a wild, satisfied noise under his palm, both free hands reaching around to grab Castiel’s ass, trying to pull his movements into a faster rhythm. Dean whines sweetly as he uses the new leverage, the new angle, to get himself better friction in Castiel’s fist. Castiel is so thrown by Dean’s acceptance of his gag that all he can do is go with it and try to keep up.

Dean breathes through his nose, short, cool puffs of air against Castiel’s knuckles as his happy noises vibrate against Castiel’s palm. It would be a little gross and a lot weird if Castiel let himself focus on it. He’s starting to realize that sure, sex is gross and weird, but it can be so good in the moment that it’s not worth worrying about. 

It’s almost perfect. The embers burning low in Castiel’s belly explode into a fire at the sight of the desire in Dean’s eyes. Castiel fixes his gaze there, rotates his hips into his fist, and he can see the exact moment Dean goes over the edge, when his eyes roll back in his head and a guttural noise escapes his throat, still muffled by Castiel’s palm. All of this, just before Castiel feels wetness on his chest and his other hand. 

When Dean finally loosens his grip on Castiel’s ass, giggling deliriously, Castiel sits up and removes both of his hands. Dean keeps giggling up at the ceiling for a minute, before he slowly maneuvers onto his elbows. “That was awesome,” he slurs, his grin charming and white even in the darkness. “Didn’t know y’had that in you.”

Castiel shrugs. His heartbeat and erection are still up, but it seems rude to touch himself while Dean has nothing to do but watch. Luckily, that’s when Dean glances down, and his grin immediately falls.

“You didn’t come?”

Castiel shrugs again. “It’s okay.”

Dean rolls his eyes, reaching to cup Castiel’s face in his hands, pulling him in for a kiss, gentle enough that Castiel’s bruised lips don’t even sting. Then, he presses his palms against Castiel’s chest, pushing him carefully. Castiel follows his guidance, climbing off and laying down next to Dean, who pulls him close and presses another kiss to his shoulder before taking his cock in hand.

Castiel’s hips jerk instinctively into Dean’s grip, and Castiel grabs at any part of Dean he can get a hold of. Dean just smiles, leaving kisses anywhere his mouth can reach as he leisurely tugs at Castiel’s cock, circling his thumb around the crown, like they’ve got all the time in the world.

And as much as Castiel’s brain tries to draw him in, down the rabbit hole he’s allowed himself to fall into too many times lately, Dean’s attention keeps those concerns at bay. When the train of thought that Castiel’s body is weird to only react this easily to Dean comes crashing through, Dean’s hand twists just right to drag a whimper from Castiel’s throat and send those thoughts away. When Castiel starts to worry about the similarities and differences between tonight, and that night a few weeks ago with Balthazar, Dean kisses him softly, the knuckles of his free hand gently grazing Castiel’s chin, and suddenly nothing matters except the way Dean is touching him. 

Because Dean touches him like it’s the most important thing in the universe, and Castiel feels alive with it. Everything that happened today, that happened over the semester, over the last few years, it all disappears and all that matters is that Dean kisses, touches, and looks at Castiel like he’s some kind of sun god, or a hero, or a savior, and Castiel gets swept up in being worshipped.

Without warning, while Dean is pressing open-mouthed kisses to Castiel’s Adam’s apple and leaving fingerprints on his back and not doing anything particularly unique with his other hand, Castiel’s vision blurs and he sighs, clutching at Dean’s shoulders as an orgasm shudders through him. Dean holds him close and keeps stroking him until Castiel finally becomes too sensitive and pushes him away. 

Then, Dean grins at him in the dark. “Hey.”

Hesitantly, Castiel smiles back. “Hello.”

“We should get cleaned up.” Dean sits up, his chest heaving as he takes a deep breath. “And maybe move over to the other bed.”

Castiel grimaces as he realizes that, between the sweat and the semen, his bedsheets are a little damp and Dean is probably right. “Good idea.”

They hurry through wiping themselves down in the bathroom. Castiel doesn’t let Dean turn on the light, and is pleasantly surprised when Dean doesn’t fight him on it. Maybe sex really was the tension breaker they needed, and things really will be better in the morning. 

It’s an unspoken decision not to get redressed, and Castiel feels a rebellious little thrill as he huddles naked under the blankets, curled into Dean’s side. Dean is warm, as always, and lazily strokes a hand through Castiel’s hair. 

Castiel is dozing, Dean’s heartbeat in his ear, and almost misses it when Dean says, “I’m sorry, Cas.”

He doesn’t need to clarify what he’s talking about. Castiel rubs his thumb over Dean’s hipbones and responds, “I’m sorry, too.”

After a pause, Dean adds, “I love you.”

Castiel’s heart misses a few beats, but this time, it’s in the fluttery, floaty way that he hopes he always gets when Dean says those words. “I know,” he teases. 

Dean’s fingers stroke Castiel’s jawline, then lift his head until they’re eye to eye. Then, Dean kisses him softly. Their lips are still swollen and bruised, but Castiel suddenly, fiercely, wants this kind of love and affection every night for the rest of his life.Damn any sort of pain that might get in the way of that.

“I love you too,” Castiel breathes when Dean pulls back. That earns him another smile, so Castiel rests his head on Dean’s chest again, and lets Dean’s heartbeat and fingers in his hair lull him back towards sleep.

Tomorrow will be better. 


	2. Figuring It Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my loves! I'm glad to see you again so soon! 
> 
> Once again, big thanks to [noxsoulmate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/noxsoulmate) for jumping in and prodding me and helping with story planning and editing! Since it's Christmas, she has an amazing Christmas fic called "Angel Cookies" that you should check out once you're done with this!
> 
> [Previously On](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1lYssE5dRmG5DylQvSGIG7TwVHQ4dsn98AzLRersq4TU/edit) for those who still need to catch up :)
> 
> Oh, and for the record: this chapter is mostly fluff and porn :) It does deal with some of the grosser or more uncomfortable aspects of sex, but for the most part it should be pretty fun. I hope you all enjoy! Oh, and of course, Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!

_ And I confessed, confessed to you  _ __   
_ Riding shotgun underneath the purple skies _ __   
_ And we danced, we danced _ __   
_ With windows down, and we danced, we danced _ __   
_ You were the song stuck in my head _ __   
_ Every song that I’ve ever loved _ __   
_ Playing again and again and again _ _   
_ __ And you can get what you want, but it’s never enough

**Favorite Record** , Fall Out Boy

 

**December 21st, 2008**

 

Castiel is a heavy sleeper. He’s read that everyone dreams, but if that’s true and he does, then he never remembers them. He supposes that, if he did remember his dreams, and if they were good dreams, they’d be something like what he’s woken up to this morning: Dean’s heartbeat in his ear, Dean’s arm around his shoulders, and all of Dean’s warmth held captive under blankets and on Castiel’s skin.

He’s not sure what time it is. There’s no light coming through the curtains, but if he remembers correctly, today is the equinox. The shortest day of the year. So, it’s possible that it could be fairly late and the sun still not up yet. Dean is an early riser, though, enough so that he hasn’t needed an alarm clock to get him up the last few mornings -- at least, not an alarm that Castiel noticed. But Castiel is usually an early riser too, so he knows how a body can get used to waking up at a certain time. Dean is still fast asleep, the rise and fall of his chest steady as he snores softly. It could be early.

Castiel hasn’t had the chance to wake up in Dean’s arms before, and now that he has it, he feels cheated for not having it before. Similarly, he wonders why they never tried this naked thing before either. Logically, he knows, it’s because they never had the opportunity. But Dean has beautiful skin, and Castiel can’t stop touching it. He’s so caught up in the feel of it, of mapping every quirk, that he almost forgets that he’s naked too.

All the drama yesterday seems like it happened to different people, which is a strange thing to think when all that happened between then and now was that they had sex. Sex shouldn’t have changed anything. It’s just sex. But for whatever reason, he feels closer to Dean. The mistakes they made yesterday, happened yesterday. They won’t happen again. What that has to do with sex, Castiel can’t say, but it seems like magic. 

Magic that Castiel doesn’t want to fade away. 

Dean is half-hard under the blankets, even as he snores away, and Castiel’s curiosity gets the better of him. The room is still fairly dark, and under the blanket moreso, so Castiel can’t get a good look at what he’s doing when he slides his hand down gently grip the base of Dean’s cock. Dean doesn’t react, and Castiel feels silly; without any passion behind the gesture, it just seems ridiculous. 

Gently, Castiel makes a few shallow strokes. Dean’s breathing doesn’t change. He doesn’t even move his head or his feet or even a small twitch of his fingers. Castiel frowns to himself; maybe it’s only ever seemed easy with Dean because he’s only ever reacted to Dean. Castiel has never had to be the seducer, has never had to take the lead, and without the obvious option of kissing, he’s not sure how to make this work. 

An idea floats through Castiel’s head. Something he’s been curious about, and even offered to Dean twice, though he’s never been able to actually try it. Inias asked for it, but just the thought made Castiel gag, so he’s not sure why he doesn’t have the same reaction when he thinks of doing it to Dean. 

It doesn’t matter. Or, well, it does, but why bother thinking too hard about it. Dean has been the exception to every other rule so far, so why would this be any different? 

Castiel lifts his head to study Dean’s face. It’s hard to detect any details in the dark, but he’s still snoring softly, and Castiel quickly decides that there’s no need to wake him up. If the general pleasure of having his dick stimulated doesn’t wake him, then the eventual orgasm will. And wouldn’t he be happy to wake up that way? Maybe even happy enough to put yesterday’s awfulness even further behind him.

Castiel starts to throw the blanket aside, then changes his mind when cold air hits his skin. Instead, he crawls under it, shuffling down until his head is level with Dean’s hips. Carefully, he shifts Dean’s legs apart and crawls between them, trying not to shake the bed too much. 

Then, he hesitates. Keeping his head down, he waits to see if his eyes will adjust, but if it was dark outside the blanket, then it’s only worse under it. He gently feels around until he’s able to take Dean’s penis in hand again, and strokes it a few more times. Still no reaction from Dean. Castiel takes a deep breath. Might as well bite the bullet.

So to speak.

Castiel shifts his hand up, holding Dean’s cock steady, so he can lean forward and, after another calming breath, slip the head between his lips. 

It’s… unpleasant. 

Castiel sits back with a grimace. This close, he can smell the sweat. Hell, he can  _ taste _ it, and for whatever reason, it had never occurred to him that that might be a problem, but of course it is. He’s a runner, for God’s sake, he  _ knows _ how sweaty a person’s private areas can be. And they had sex last night, rutting against each other like animals with only a cursory wipe-down afterwards. It might not even be just sweat he’s tasting.

He gags at the thought, then is disappointed with himself. He has to get past how gross sex is.  _ Has _ to. Billions of other people for billions of years have managed to tuck their own disgust away and get through it, so Castiel takes another deep breath and dives back in. 

It’s still gross, but he manages to drag his tongue over the smooth head, slowly exploring and trying to get his bearings. There’s a running chant in his head,  _ noteethnoteethnoteeth _ , and he has to back off briefly to breathe before trying again, struggling to force himself to breathe through his nose, even though the musky scent only amplifies the musky taste. 

How does Dean enjoy this as much as he does? How does  _ anyone _ enjoy this? Castiel isn’t even sure where to go from here: his jaw is already starting to ache, and any time he tries to take Dean’s dick in further, saliva floods his mouth in the way that he associates with nausea, or he just flat out gags and has to back off again. This cannot be enjoyable, and that certainty is further cemented in his head by the fact that Dean has failed to wake up. For that matter, he’s failed to do more than maybe a twitch in his stomach muscles, which might not even have been due to Castiel’s ministrations. 

Frustrated and disappointed, Castiel considers giving up and trying to go back to sleep. This isn’t going anywhere, and it’s just leaving Castiel with a bad taste in his mouth--- figuratively, and literally. Still, he’s come this far. Might as well try and get to the finish line. 

He settles for fixing his mouth around the head and stroking Dean’s dick with his hand. It still smells, it still tastes bad, but at least he’s not gagging, and Dean’s hips start to shift, so it must be stimulating. Castiel takes the opportunity to experiment with his tongue, because that’s not so bad, until a spurt of bitter liquid hits his tastebuds, and he gags so hard, his chest spasms into a small coughing fit. 

Not come, because when Castiel’s cough finally subsides, he notices that Dean is still hard, but Castiel does suddenly realize that he’s going to have to figure out how to deal with the come situation eventually. Spit or swallow, right? 

The thought of swallowing makes Castiel’s mouth water, and not in a good way. And there’s not really anywhere to spit, unless Castiel wants to make a run for the sink. Holding it in his mouth for that long almost sounds worse than swallowing, however. 

His heartbeat has picked up in the meantime, pounding painfully against his chest, which is still sore from his coughing. But before Castiel can figure out what he wants to do, the blanket over his head is jerked away, and Castiel looks up in surprise. 

Dean stares down at him, jaw slack, before catching himself and clearing his throat. “‘Mornin’,” he says, never taking his eyes off Castiel’s. “Um. Whatcha doin’ down there, buddy?”

Castiel doesn’t speak. His brain has apparently decided to shut off under duress and embarrassment. The silence stretches out towards awkwardness, as Dean continues to stare, so, without thinking, without breaking their locked gaze, Castiel slowly lowers his head and leaves a chaste kiss on the tip of Dean’s penis. It jumps under the attention, and Dean gasps softly.

“Okay?” Castiel manages to whisper. 

There’s no turning back when Dean nods frantically. “Please,” he chokes out, reaching to roughly run his hands through Castiel’s hair. 

Being wanted, being  _ begged _ … apparently that’s a motivator for Castiel, because any concern about smell, taste, swallowing or not, flies out the window as Castiel slides his lips over the head again and sucks gently. Dean’s hips jerk, threatening to gag him, so Castiel uses one hand to press Dean down, while the other works the shaft. 

Now that he’s awake, Dean is more vocal. Not delirious or anything, but soft, satisfied noises, accompanied by slightly frantic grasping at Castiel’s hair. It’s clear he wants to pull, but is keeping that instinct under control, which Castiel honestly appreciates; this is already weird and difficult enough without having to deal with a sore scalp. 

Mostly, though, Dean seems to like the view. It is a little brighter now, a thin line of light sneaking in from between the curtains, and Dean appears to be burning whatever image Castiel makes into his brain. Part of Castiel is curious about what Dean is seeing: he’s naked, stretched out on his stomach between Dean’s thighs with a cock in his mouth, and Dean just can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the sight. The other part is afraid that Dean will draw this picture, which leaves the chance that someone else might someday see.

But maybe not. Maybe Dean will make a sketchbook just for him. Heat rises in Castiel’s cheeks at the thought of lovingly accurate pencil sketches of himself, and Dean chokes on a breath, as if Castiel’s blush is the cherry on the icing on the cake. 

“Shit,” Dean curses. More bitter precome on Castiel’s tongue, and he fights the urge to sit up and spit, instead pressing his tongue flat to the head, then challenging himself to take it a little more before sucking again. His hand keeps up a steady rhythm as Dean’s hips start to writhe. “You’re so pretty.”

That’s new, and Castiel’s not sure how to take it, especially under these circumstances. He hums in acknowledgement, and presses back when Dean’s hips try to jump at the sensation. Dean gasps and grips at Castiel’s hair again, pulling despite his best efforts not to, but Castiel barely notices, because their eyes meet and suddenly his mouth is flooded with bitter slime. It’s disgusting, and Castiel immediately lifts his head, accidentally taking a shot to his cheek as he thoughtlessly opens his mouth to cough and accidentally spits a mouthful of come onto Dean’s stomach. 

He manages not to gag, but as his coughing subsides, there’s suddenly a pair of hands on his face, pulling him closer, and Castiel pulls back. He doesn’t want to kiss Dean while the taste of come is still on his tongue. Oblivious, Dean chuckles softly and tries again, settling for a kiss between Castiel’s eyes instead. “Sorry I didn’t warn you,” he says, wiping away the come on Castiel’s face and leaving a kiss there. “Forgot you hadn’t done that before.”

Castiel stares at the carpet and realizes he’s having trouble breathing, and his heartbeat has picked up again. He forces himself to take a few deep breaths while Dean continues to leave kisses on his face and in his hair, though Dean teases, “It’s rude to spit it back on a guy, though.”

Castiel finally looks at Dean, and he’s not sure what Dean sees when their eyes meet again, but it can’t be good, since the smile falls from Dean’s face. “What’s wrong?”

Castiel closes his mouth. He can still taste Dean’s come, and the realization makes him gag. “I wanna brush my teeth,” he manages to say as he fumbles out of bed and rushes for the sink.

Dean stays in bed and doesn’t speak as Castiel rinses his mouth with tap water, brushes his teeth, gargles, then rinses his mouth again. By the time the routine is over, Castiel’s breathing has evened out, but his hands have a small tremor. He looks at himself in the mirror in the halflight, and scolds his reflection:  _ why are you panicking? You made your boyfriend come with your mouth, wasn’t that the goal _ ?

Yes, it was the goal. But Castiel didn’t enjoy the process, and he probably should have. 

He takes another deep breath, then turns around. That’s when Dean finally speaks up, asking for a hand towel to clean himself, and Castiel blushes again as he dampens a towel and brings it over as requested. 

He sits on the edge of the bed as Dean wipes himself down, disappointment in himself starting to crest in a wave over his brain… but it fades when Dean wraps his arms around Castiel, resting his head on Castiel’s shoulder like it belongs there. 

“Talk to me,” Dean says. 

Castiel hesitates before meekly asking, “Will you hold me?”

It’s a stupid question, but Dean nods like he doesn’t notice, and steals a kiss from Castiel’s lips when he lifts his head, before they rearrange themselves back under the warm covers. Castiel lays on his side with Dean pressed up against his back, and Dean is painfully affectionate, leaving more kisses on Castiel’s shoulder and the nape of his neck, and drawing aimless patterns on the skin of Castiel’s chest and stomach. It’s nice, and before long, Castiel finds himself soothed. Relaxed. Normal heartbeat, normal breathing, steady hands.

He’s not sure if that was Dean’s intention. He’s not even sure if Dean really noticed how on edge he was. But Castiel feels comfortable enough to speak truths now, so he does: “I didn’t like it.”

Dean hums in acknowledgement. “It is kinda weird at first, I guess.”

“It was gross.”

“I’m sorry.” Dean shifts his arms, pulling Castiel closer and nestling his nose into Castiel’s neck. “It’s polite to give a warning, and I didn’t.”

“Not just that. The whole thing is gross.” Castiel makes a face where Dean can’t see. Dean leaves a kiss behind Castiel’s ear. “It was sweaty, and smelled and tasted bad, and my jaw hurts---” He cuts himself off when he notices Dean is laughing into his hair.

“Tell me what you really think,” Dean teases. “Don’t worry about my feelings or anything.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Dean is evidently intent on enjoying the cuddle session while he can: his hands are locked around Castiel’s chest, firm and steady, but his mouth keeps traveling, tasting new inches of skin as he speaks. “I have an oral fixation. I accept this about myself. I like going down on my partner. But I get it.” He chuckles softly. “It’s easiest after a shower.”

Castiel blinks, feeling a little stupid when he whispers, “Really?”

“Of course. I mean, it’s been almost twenty-four hours since I last showered. It’s gonna be pretty gross down there.  _ I _ don’t mind the smell.” Dean squeezes Castiel gently. “But I can see why someone would. Why  _ you _ would.”

“So… after we shower…”

“Don’t feel like you have to try again right away.” Dean’s voice is rough and sweet, his breath tickling the hairs on the back of Castiel’s neck. “You don’t ever have to try again, if you don’t want to.”

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s not fair of me to make you do stuff you don’t like.” Dean shrugs, jostling Castiel’s arms. “You shouldn’t have to make yourself miserable to show me you love me. ‘Cause that’s the important part, right?”

Castiel smiles to himself. “Right.”

Dean hums. “I love you, you love me, we’re a happy family.” He pauses, then laughs softly. “Or we’re gonna be, someday, I guess.”

Castiel’s breath catches in his chest. He has the sensation of all the blood in his veins pausing, for a millisecond, to comprehend what Dean just said, before rushing to start pumping again, raising goosebumps all over. Castiel shifts in Dean’s arms, rolling onto his other side so that he can cup Dean’s face in his hands, hold him still as Dean blinks at him in surprise.

“Do you mean that?” Castiel asks, still a little breathless.

Dean stares. “Mean what?”

“We’ll be a family someday.”

Pink spreads across Dean’s nose, over his cheeks, towards his neck. In the dim light of the sunrise, it’s beautiful and warm, and Castiel’s blood surges again at the sight of it. “It’s just a stupid kids’ song, Cas. From a stupid kids’ show,” Dean mumbles. “I was just… it’s just a  _ song _ .” 

Castiel is only nineteen years old, but he started falling in love with Dean when he was fifteen, and he knows for certain that Dean is the man he wants to grow old with. They’ve had their problems, big and small, but considering all the things they’ve done and all the changes they’ve made, he can’t imagine anything Dean could do that could permanently end what they have. Castiel has indulged in future fantasies of a Victorian house in Portland, with a front porch swing and a two-car garage, and a large backyard and a kitchen with all the best gadgets for Dean to cook with. The walls would be covered with Dean’s paintings, and sometimes, deep down in secret places, Castiel adds a baby or two or three, because he knows that Dean would be an excellent father. And, frankly, because Castiel  _ wants _ .  _ He _ wants kids,  _ he _ wants to raise a family together, and his heart clenches painfully in his chest whenever he thinks about it, because it’s still so far away. Castiel knows what he wants, but since they’re still so young, he’s kept these fantasies to himself. There’s no point in scaring Dean with how much of their future Castiel has imagined before he goes to sleep at night. 

Castiel knows Dean was just referencing a stupid kids’ song. But Dean’s blush and the way his eyes and mouth go soft as the seconds tick on tell Castiel that he’s not the only one who’s imagined such things. 

Dean grunts in surprise when Castiel kisses him. It takes a moment before he catches on, parting his lips to allow the kiss to deepen. His breath is stale, but Castiel is starting to learn that little things like that don’t matter when he’s so full of emotion and the only way to empty the pressure of it in his chest is to kiss and touch and feel. 

Dean keeps his hands on Castiel’s waist, lets Castiel control the depth of their kiss, plays the role of the perfect gentleman, there to give Castiel what he needs. But, when Castiel recognizes the swooping sensation in his belly as arousal and presses his hips into Dean’s, something snaps. Dean rolls Castiel onto his back, and when Castiel breaks away, surprised, Dean takes the opportunity to start sucking marks into Castiel’s neck, grazing his teeth over Castiel’s neck and earlobe. His hands stay above the waist, but now they roam, rough, calloused palms dragging against Castiel’s skin. A thumb brushes Castiel’s nipple and he shudders, his cock slowly filling with blood. He pushes the fledgling erection into Dean’s hips again, and Dean hums into his shoulder, biting down just hard enough to bruise. 

It’s quiet, so the rustling sheets and gasping breaths sound harsher and louder than normal. When Dean moves down to latch his mouth around one of Castiel’s nipples, Castiel responds with a sharp noise that breaks through the silence and leaves him self-conscious… for all of two seconds, until he realizes that Dean hasn’t moved, and doesn’t seem to mind. Hell, Dean seems contentedly distracted, and when he flicks his tongue over the peak, Castiel lets himself be dragged down into distraction too. 

Still, he breaks the silence again when Dean finally starts to move further down. “No,” Castiel whispers, grabbing almost blindly at Dean’s hair, the sound echoing in his own ears as if he yelled in an empty arena. But he’s mostly hard, and he could probably even come under the right ministrations, and just the thought of Dean getting down there and dealing with the same disgusting smells has Castiel anxious enough that he worries he could lose his erection. Dean is  _ good _ at giving head, and he enjoys it enough that the gross part doesn’t matter, but that’s not the point. 

Dean is still, staring at Castiel, waiting for further instruction. When Castiel tugs on his hair, he goes willingly, happily taking the kiss he’s given before Castiel says, “I wanna kiss you.”

“Okay.”

“Just touch me.”

Dean grins, lazy and charming. “I can do that,” he answers, voice huskier than normal, before slotting their mouths together again and dragging his hand down Castiel’s side, over his hip until he’s gripping at his thigh. The skin there is more sensitive than Castiel could have anticipated, sending a forceful shiver up his spine that ends in a helpless moan, muffled against Dean’s lips. Dean misinterprets the sound, however, removing his hand entirely and mumbling a breathless, “Sorry.”

Castiel huffs, aggressively biting at Dean’s lower lip before hooking his leg around Dean’s hip, grabbing his hand and placing it back on his own thigh. “What did I say?”

The light is just bright enough to see the way Dean’s eyes dilate. Castiel presses Dean’s hand into his muscle, until he feels fingernails digging in. “I said, touch me.”

Dean takes the hint. He leans in to kiss Castiel again, now with a desperate edge, and uses his grip on Castiel’s thigh to adjust the way their hips fit together. Castiel gasps when he realizes Dean is hard again, but he doesn’t allow himself to be jealous. This is a blessing, especially because Castiel has long been enamored of the image of their cocks slotted side-by-side, besotted with the friction that comes from it. That’s how they got off the very first time, it’s how Castiel lost his virginity, and it will always be his favorite.

Castiel is learning a lot about himself this morning.

Dean nips at his neck again, dragging him back to the moment. Dean’s hips are moving in slow, gentle circles, sending more frantic thoughts and images through Castiel’s mind, but he sets them aside to dissect later. He doesn’t let himself get distracted again, and uses one hand to grip Dean’s neck, directing him away from hickeys and back to Castiel’s mouth. The other hand slips down between their bodies, circling around their cocks and giving Dean something to thrust into. Dean chokes on a moan, breaking the kiss as his rhythm speeds up, and Castiel pumps his fist to match. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Dean hisses, resting his forehead against Castiel’s temple, breath hot against Castiel’s jaw. “I wanna do this every morning.”

Castiel’s breath hitches. His hand moves down as Dean’s hips thrust up, and Dean hasn’t loosened his grip on Castiel’s thigh. 

“I wanna wake up with you all the time,” Dean continues. “Wanna hold you all night and get you off nice and quiet in the morning.”

Castiel’s hips jerk, but they’re pinned under Dean’s weight and hold. 

“Wanna put a ring on your finger.”

“Dean.”

“Wanna get you a nice, big house.”

“ _ Dean _ .”

“But we still gotta be quiet, Cas.”

Castiel keens. Dean grins, beautiful and cheeky and as he leans in and whispers like a promise, “We don’t want to wake up the kids.”

It’s clear now: Dean has imagined a future together too, just as far ahead and as deep and committed as Castiel, and that does it. Castiel’s orgasm is a surprise to him, but Dean just hums confidently as he finally releases Castiel’s leg to cup his hand instead, help him through it. Castiel is left panting and stunned, his fingers and neck and knees stiff, as Dean carefully puts him back together and rolls back to his side, cheerfully kissing Castiel’s cheek before sliding off the bed. He’s gorgeous nude, because of course he is, but Castiel isn’t quite able to fully appreciate it now, as his brain attempts to reboot and process what just happened. 

Dean just keeps humming, pleasant and tuneless. He retrieves another hand towel and wets it before coming back to clean Castiel’s stomach and chest.  _ Chest _ ! Dean is something else if he can make Castiel come enough that it reaches his  _ chest _ , and he doesn’t even seem to know it. 

In fact, now that Castiel’s paying attention, he can see that Dean’s still hard. Chastising himself for being selfish, he reaches for Dean, who surprisingly pulls away. 

“But you---”

“It’ll take a lot more than a quickie handjob to get me off again that quick,” Dean says, smiling gently. “And we got a full day ahead. No time to waste.”

Castiel stares, confused. “I don’t want to leave you hanging.”

“You’re not. I came, you came. This’ll go down again if you let me shower first.”

“But I thought---”

“I don’t need to come every time I get hard, Cas.” Dean rolls his eyes. “Just raincheck me so we can clean up and get out of here.”

Castiel finally glances at the clock on the bedside table. Just past eight, and check-out is at nine. “Will you let me buy you breakfast?”

Dean hesitates, then grins. “I think I saw a waffle joint up the road last night.”

Slowly, Castiel smiles back. “Waffles sound amazing.”

While Dean takes the first shower, Castiel retrieves his phone. There is a large crack in the screen, but everything still works, and he’s perfectly capable of replacing it if he decides it’s not worth the hassle. He’s not even sure why he was so upset about it last night, or honestly, why he was upset about anything yesterday. Apparently, a couple orgasms are a good way to erase petty fights and bad feelings. Who knew?

He plugs his phone in, and is unsurprised by the influx of texts from his friends. 

 

**Meg** : helllooooooo

**Meg** : did you fall asleep?

**Meg** : tell Daphne you dropped me to fuck him, even if you didn’t

**Meg** : I bet her $5 you did, so I’ll buy you coffee if I win

 

**Daphne** : Did you guys sort things out?

**Daphne** : Meg says you ditched her to have sex, but that doesn’t sound like you

**Daphne** : Then again, your boyfriend is really hot, so I don’t blame you if you did.

 

**Hannah** : I hope things are better today. 

**Hannah** : I’m free to talk if they aren’t.

 

Castiel really adores his friends. He’s considering how to respond to each of them when he hears the shower shut off. That’s when it occurs to him: he can’t spend today texting his friends like Dean’s not there. He was as much of a problem as Dean yesterday, and the texting was a huge part of that problem. 

Quickly, he sends the same text to all three of them, just before Dean emerges from the bathroom.

 

**Castiel** : I’m fine, and we’re fine, but I won’t be texting much today. We’re going to the redwoods! I’ll send pictures later.

 

“Your turn,” Dean says as he turns the water on to brush his teeth. He’s wearing jeans and an undershirt, which makes Castiel feel self-conscious about still being naked, and he sets his phone aside to hurry into the shower. 

Alone with just the pounding of the water, Castiel’s mind is blank, and he doesn’t know why. A lot has happened in the last twenty-four hours, but when he thinks about all the arguing yesterday, it seems far away and unimportant. The sex should be important too, if only because of the little things it’s taught him about himself and Dean, but it just…  _ is _ . He had sex with his boyfriend. With the man he’s in love with. That’s what’s  _ supposed _ to happen in a relationship.

He is starting to think that his insistence on experimenting at college just gave him a few extra complexes instead of fixing anything or finding any answers. If he had just accepted that he’s different from his friends and waited, Dean would have taken care of him. Dean  _ is _ taking care of him. So maybe wishes and regrets are as unremarkable as everything else. Couples fight. Couples have sex. Everything is perfectly normal. 

It occurs to Castiel that he and Dean haven’t exactly had a “normal” courtship, so perhaps the normalcy of it all is what’s confusing. But there’s no reason to worry about it, so Castiel opts not to. 

After showering, they quickly get their things together, and Castiel loads the car while Dean checks out. As promised, Dean lets Castiel pay for a delicious waffle breakfast, and with the air between them clear, they set back out on the road.

They’re lucky that the day is sunny; though it doesn’t do much to pierce the cold in the air, it does make driving easier, and while it’s certainly not the only reason, Castiel does think that it helps the cheery atmosphere in the car as well. Dean is chatty and happy, with nothing on the radio, though Castiel notices him fidgeting with the buttons every now and then.

“It’s okay if you want to play some music, Dean,” Castiel says the next time he catches Dean’s fingers twisting the volume knob. “Just leave the noise level low enough that we can talk to each other.”

“No, well,” Dean clears his throat. “Yeah, of course, but… I wasn’t…”

He stutters for a little longer before Castiel rolls his eyes. “Spit it out.”

Dean swallows and anxiously taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “Do you have anything you want to listen to?”

Oh. That’s new. Castiel hums uncertainly, reaching for the box of cassette tapes. “I guess I could find something---”

Dean puts a hand on his knee, cutting him off. “I meant, off your iPod. You can plug it in if you want.”

This is even more surprising, and Castiel frowns, suspicious. “You’ll just make fun.”

“I won’t!”

“You always make fun of any music that was made after the eighties.”

“Hey, I like Sublime!”

Castiel gives him a disbelieving look, and Dean sighs.

“I swear on my mother, I won’t make fun of anything you play.” Dean glances at him, something forlorn in his gaze. “I feel bad about what I did with the music yesterday, and it got me thinking a little bit. I realized I don’t even really know what you like to listen to, and that’s shitty. I want to know.”

Castiel still doesn’t really trust Dean to keep his comments to himself, so although he pulls his phone out of his pocket and plugs it in, he scrolls straight to one of the black sheep of his collection. “I’ll pick something I think you’ll like,” he offers. When Dean looks skeptical, Castiel tsks. “That counts as making fun.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I could see it on your face.” Dean breaks into a grin, and Castiel can’t help but mirror the expression. “Meg introduced me to this band, and the more she told me about them, the more I thought they were up your alley, if you bothered to give them a chance.”

“You wound me,” Dean teases. “I’m open-minded!”

“No comment.”

“Just press play, Cas.”

Castiel does as he’s told. [A delicate acoustic guitar starts to play through the speakers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n0H3RlaQVrM), and Castiel smiles to himself, watching Dean with interest as the solo reaches its end, and the pop of a drum introduces a wild electric guitar performing the same solo with a lot more disgust and anger than before. Dean’s eyebrows fly toward his hairline at the sudden change, and he turns to blink at a grinning Castiel.

“ _ You _ like this?”

“I’m  _ actually _ open-minded, unlike some people in this car.”

“Seriously?”

“I didn’t at first,” Castiel finally explains, “but not all of their songs sound like this. Some are softer, some are more pop, some are more experimental. This isn’t one of my favorites, but I always thought, if I had the chance to introduce you, I’d use this one.”

Dean shrugs. “Well, you’re not wrong. I do like it. Who are they?”

“Coheed & Cambria.”

“That’s a weird name.” He wrinkles his nose as the singer’s voice finally appears, and adds, “That’s a weird voice.”

“You get used to it. And the band’s name is a reference to two of the characters in the story.”

“The story?”

Castiel grins again. He never would have given the band more than a few courtesy listens if Meg hadn’t mentioned the concept behind their albums. She was dismissive of it, happy to enjoy the music as it was, but Castiel was curious and looked into it further. A band like this really stands out among the rest of his collection, but the more he found out about the story, the more he listened, and the more he listened, the more he thought of Dean. 

“All their albums are concept albums,” Castiel explains. “They tell a sci-fi epic about love and war and life and death.”

Dean mulls that over. “Sci-fi?”

“Sci-fi.”

“Like, with aliens and weird tech and traveling through space?”

“All of the above.”

“Told through songs with guitars like that?”

Castiel’s grin widens. “There’s comic books too.”

Dean finally grins back. “You have my attention.”

They listen to a few more songs as Castiel tries to explain what he knows of the story. He couldn’t quite follow what was going on through the songs alone, and hasn’t read the comics, but he stumbled upon a forum full of fans discussing the story and was able to figure out a few key pieces that way. Dean seems genuinely interested, and even as the songs change, revealing that not every song has that screaming guitar that Dean likes so much, he still finds something to like in each one. 

Their surroundings start to change as they enter one of the Redwood parks, but that’s when Dean surprises Castiel again, asking, “What’s your favorite song by them?”

Self-conscious, Castiel asks, “Why?”

Dean pouts at him. “You know my favorite things. I want to know yours.”

“You do know mine. You know what kind of food I like, what books I read---”

Dean rolls his eyes, but he looks sad when he says, “Just play the damn song, Cas. I promise I won’t tease you.”

With a sigh, Castiel scrolls until he finds it, and presses play. [This one starts soft and acoustic as well](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ojasq626CgQ), but stays that way. The sound always makes Castiel think of rainy days and fog, but this was the song that really helped him appreciate the singer’s voice. Something about its suits the mournful tone. 

“ _I’m gonna ride this plane out of your life again_ _  
__I wish that I could stay, but you argue_.”

Dean reaches across the seat and carefully intertwines his fingers with Castiel’s. They don’t look at each other, and they don’t speak, but they don’t have to. 

“ _So leave yourself intact, ‘cause I will be coming back_ _  
__In a phrase to cut these lips, I love you.”_

Castiel sits up and tears his hand away, pausing the song. “It gets sad after that,” he says quickly.

“It was already sad,” Dean responds softly. “But that’s okay. We’re coming up on the first stop anyway.”

“So soon?” Castiel turns his attention out the window, but so far, only sees trees. “Where? What are we doing?”

“Get your beanie.” Dean smiles affectionately. “We’re going on a hike.”

Not too much later, a small clearing appears, with a cabin on one side of the road, and a restaurant on the other. Dean pulls into the parking lot in front of the cabin, and Castiel’s jaw drops when he sees the towering statues of a lumberjack and a bull. Dean laughs when he notices, and gently nudges Castiel out of the car, taking his hand after Castiel hurries to pull his beanie over his ears. They approach the statues first, giggling like nine year-olds at the bull’s gigantic blue balls. Dean points out what should have been obvious: they’re American legends Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox. Castiel takes a few pictures, jumping when Paul announces the sunny weather through a loudspeaker.  A few kids nearby look as surprised as Castiel, though Dean just laughs again before offering his hand. Castiel takes it, following him into a nearby cabin covered in Christmas lights, the words “Trees of Mystery” written over the door. 

There’s a gift shop inside, and a small museum of Native American artifacts and art. They take a stroll through the museum, staying close enough to bump against each other whenever they read about the pieces on display, and Castiel loves the intense focus in Dean’s eyes as he studies the artwork. 

Castiel wants to poke around the gift shop, but Dean insists that they take the trails first. They each pay for their own ticket, and spend a few beautiful, peaceful hours walking through the redwoods, talking quietly and taking pictures. The trees are immense, thick at the bottom and reaching for the sky. They’re humbling, a reminder of both the expanse of time, and the possibility of potential. 

Castiel shows an interest in the SkyTrail, a collection of gondolas that soar through the trees and end at an observation deck where one can see the ocean, but Dean firmly refuses, putting his foot down. Castiel teases him about being afraid of heights, but doesn’t push the issue; he’s happy walking too. 

One of the trails they take showcases a collection of redwood carvings, and Dean is delighted to see more art. They get a fellow hiker to take a picture of them in front of a carving that reads “I love you,” and though it was Dean’s idea to do so, he acts embarrassed when Castiel immediately makes the picture his phone background. Still, he accepts the chaste kiss Castiel offers afterwards.

They’re cold by the time they get back to the gift shop, so they spend a little time inside, looking around. It’s mostly the usual tourist fare: baseball caps, mugs, trinkets, and dust collectors. But there are beautiful wooden carvings as well, and Castiel ends up buying a small one shaped like a car, and gifting it to Dean.

“It’s not Christmas yet,” Dean pouts.

“Shut up and let me spoil you,” Castiel responds.

Castiel uses the restroom while Dean asks the cashier where he can get gas, and Dean makes none of the disparaging comments he did yesterday. Castiel’s not sure why he expected any, since Dean is clearly making a better effort today. 

As they head back to the car, Dean remembers that he should call his mother to let her know they’re still alive, and he does so as they wait for the car to warm back up. Castiel takes the opportunity to quickly text his friends. Meg is the only one who had responded to his earlier message, and he opts not to read it right now, since it’s probably just her bugging him about her bet with Daphne. He’ll let her know she won later. 

They stop for gas just down the road, and being allowed to pump it himself puts Dean in a stellar mood. He’s practically whistling as they pull back onto the highway, and Castiel relaxes back into his seat. Today is turning out pretty wonderful. 

They drive in comfortable silence for a while before Dean prompts, “Play me your favorite song.”

“I thought I just did?”

“No, not by that band,” Dean scoffs. “By any band. Your favorite song ever.”

Castiel frowns. “Absolutely not.”

“I haven’t made fun of any your songs today, why do you think I would now?”

“Because you  _ liked _ the songs I played this morning.” Castiel crosses his arms over his chest and closes his eyes. “You won’t like my favorites.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Then, “I’m sorry.”

Castiel opens his eyes. Dean stays focused on the road. “For what?” Castiel asks finally.

“You told me once that I can’t mold you in my image, but that’s what I’ve been trying to do anyway.”

“When did I say that?” Castiel asks in confusion.

“The summer we met. Really early on.”

“And you remember that?”

Dean shrugs. “Some things just stick out in a guy’s memory, I guess.”

“I’m sure I was just kidding.”

“I’m sure you were, too. Doesn’t change the fact that I was trying to do it.” Dean sighs roughly, and Castiel’s not sure where this is coming from, but he’s kind of glad they’re talking about it anyway. “I was so busy trying to get you to like the things I like, that I never asked about the things you like. I don’t know your favorite band, or your favorite movie. I know you read the same stuff I do, but who’s your favorite author?”

This outburst just got more confusing, because Castiel had never even realized Dean didn’t know such things, because Dean is thoughtful and observant enough to know other details. Like that Castiel takes his coffee with cream but no sugar, and that he likes Twizzlers and Sprite when they go to the movies. And Castiel has never complained about Dean’s taste either: he doesn’t hate Led Zeppelin or Johnny Cash, and he’s fine with superhero movies. Apparently, it never occurred to either of them that Castiel could have his own preferences. 

“And it’s worse, because I made you feel bad about what you like,” Dean continues, sounding contrite. “I don’t want you to be just like me.” He sighs again, shaking his head. “Hell, I want to be more like you.”

“Dean,” Castiel warns, reaching over to take one of Dean’s hands off the steering wheel, gently rubbing his thumb over the knuckles. “I love you.”

Dean huffs. “I know.”

“I appreciate the apology, but it never even occurred to me to mind.”

“I know.” Dean laughs softly. “That doesn’t make it better.”

“Why does it matter all of a sudden?”

Dean shrugs. “That shit with my music yesterday, and fighting over dinner, I guess. Like I said, it got me thinking. That’s what I was thinking about. And I’m sorry.” 

Castiel takes a moment, then squeezes Dean’s hand before releasing it and reaching for his phone. He pulls up his music, and quickly scrolls to the right song. He doesn’t even have to think about which one to choose. As he plugs the phone in, however, he does give Dean a playful glare. “You promise you won’t make fun?”

“I swear it.” Dean swallows, completely sincere. “Not a peep from me.”

Castiel hits play. [Yet again, the song starts with a guitar solo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LlqkQRQSn40), but this one is clean and precise, playful, like a happy memory. Which is fitting, Castiel supposes. This song is more pop, more radio friendly, than some of the other songs by this band, but Castiel doesn’t care about such things when it comes to music. The melody is soothing, and the lyrics speak to him. That’s all that matters. 

Dean, to his credit, seems to actually be listening to the song, and there’s no hint of derision on his face. He actually seems a little thoughtful, with his jaw relaxed but his eyes focused. He doesn’t say a word, but when the chorus plays for the second time, Castiel thinks he can see a small smile forming on Dean’s lips.

“ _My heart is yours to fill or burst_ _  
__To break or bury_ _  
___Or wear as jewelry, whichever you prefer ”

It’s definitely a smile, and it grows as the song starts to play itself out. There’s no malice in it, but Castiel still narrows his eyes suspiciously when the smile upgrades to a toothy grin. 

“ _And you stood at your door with your hands on my waist_ _  
__And you kissed me like you meant it_ _  
___And I knew that you meant it ”

The song ends on that chant, and Dean is still grinning mischievously, like he knows something that Castiel doesn’t, and it puts Castiel on edge. “That counts as teasing,” he says, pointing at Dean’s mouth, which doesn’t change shape.

“Not teasing,” Dean responds. “Just… happy.”

“That’s not a happy smile.”

“It’s a very happy smile. I’m learning stuff about you.”

“It’s a smile that says you’re up to something.”

Dean just beams beatifically. “Play me another one.”

“Another what?”

“Another one of your favorite songs.”

Castiel considers it, both trying to decide which song he would pick, and whether or not it’s worth it to share it with Dean. He could just be gathering all his jokes to unleash them later. But after a few moments, Castiel throws caution out the window. Whatever Dean’s up to, it can’t be that bad, and he  _ did _ seem sincere about learning more about Castiel, so it can’t hurt to indulge him. 

After scrolling through his phone for a little while, Castiel decides on another outlier in his collection: most of Castiel’s favorites lean towards pop and feature pianos, smooth voices, and classical instrumentation, but [this song starts with a messy guitar](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PFR5s96jGeg), and the singer’s vocals are growly and passionate. The lyrics are instantly unexpected, too.

“ _When I watch you, wanna do you_ _  
__Right where you’re standing, yeah_ _  
__Right on the foyer, on this dark day_ _  
___Right in plain view, oh yeah ”

Dean immediately whips his head around to give Castiel a  _ look _ , and Castiel’s not sure what’s funnier about it: the bad attempt at a leer, or the open-mouthed surprise. He smothers his laughter behind his hand, using the other to gesture for Dean to pay better attention to the winding road before them. Dean complies, but shuts his mouth as the song plays on. 

“ _Should they kill me, your love will fill me, as warm as the bullets, yeah_ _  
__I’ll know my purpose, this war was worth this_ _  
___I won’t let you down, oh no, no ”

“This is dark,” Dean comments finally.

“It’s passionate,” Castiel responds. He can practically see the wheels turning in Dean’s head, and Castiel adores him for it. He’s aware that it’s easy to assume he’s aloof and dispassionate, but he’s also aware that Dean knows better. Dean has always had an easier time than most people putting Castiel’s strange personal puzzle together, and Castiel is certain that he’ll figure this piece out too.

As the song fades out, Castiel can see Dean glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, before saying, “I should have asked you to do this sooner.”

“Why?”

“Remember how I thought…” Dean pauses and shakes his head before trying again. “Earlier this year, I was under the impression that you didn’t love me the same way I love you. I was wrong, I know that now, but…” He trails off again, chewing on his lower lip. “When I paint you, you can see how I feel. At least, I think it’s pretty obvious?”

Dean seems to be losing his nerve, so Castiel limits himself to, “It is. I could see it there.”

Dean smiles slightly. “Good. But, I never had that. From you. You’re not an artist, and that’s not a bad thing! But I think, if I’d asked about what music you like sooner, I would have known sooner. How you feel.”

Castiel takes a long moment to digest this, and Dean allows him to do so. After a while, Castiel slowly says, “I didn’t write these songs.”

“No,” Dean concedes, “but you didn’t have to. The kind of music a person favors says a lot about them, and the songs you played for me say that you’re kind of a romantic.”

“I am not,” Castiel says, barely suppressing a smile. 

“You are,” Dean teases. “Your favorite songs make you think of me.”

“That’s pretty self-centered,” Castiel points out, before sighing. “But it’s true. You got me.” Dean beams, sunny and brilliant, and Castiel can’t help matching the expression. It’s such a freeing feeling to be understood. “I’m not really interested in music like other people are, not with that passion like you have, but if it brings you to mind… I can get into it.”

Dean just keeps smiling, and reaches across the seat to take Castiel’s hand. With a contented sigh, Castiel asks, “Do you want to switch back to your music now?”

“I had it all day yesterday,” Dean says. “Play what you want to play.”

Castiel puts his phone on shuffle, then sets it aside, keeping the volume low enough to talk over. They joke and they laugh, and Dean cringes after taking a shot at one of Castiel’s songs, but Castiel lets it slide. There’s an understanding between them now, and the moments seem to stretch on forever, like the road, the sky, the trees, the ocean, like they’ve captured this perfection in a glass globe to cherish forever.

In fact, it seems too soon when they pull into a small town called Eureka, breaking away from peaceful eternity, and Dean reminds them of the passage of time by asking, “What do you want to eat?”

It’s also a small reminder of the drama from yesterday, where Dean wanted the familiar, and Castiel tried to push him outside his comfort zone. Now, Castiel’s not sure how to respond. Dean has made a huge, noticeable effort to do better, and all Castiel has done is ignore his text messages. 

“Burgers are fine,” Castiel says slowly, awkwardly, as they pull off the highway. Dean scoffs.

“ _ I  _ don’t even want a burger right now. I’m sure we can find a Thai or sushi place here.”

There’s no desire to fight, but Castiel doesn’t want Dean to be the only one making an effort. He counters with, “How about seafood?” 

Dean hesitates, mulling it over. “Actually, that’s a great idea. We’re right off the ocean. Almost all of these towns are old fishing towns.”

“Exactly.”

They find the downtown area almost by accident, and when Dean finally finds a place to park, Castiel gets out first, looking around as he pulls his beanie over his ears. Most of the buildings are Victorian, pretty pastel colors and charming white lining, and the streetlights are designed to match. They’re decorated for Christmas with lights and wreaths, ribbons and fir garlands, and there are posters everywhere advertising the local Holiday Festival going on this weekend. 

Castiel raises an eyebrow, and approaches a poster on a nearby streetlamp, as Dean locks the car. Tonight, the town has plans for dancing and good food, with local vendors selling their wares. 

Dean presses up behind him, warm and solid, asking, “Do you want to go to this?”

Castiel shrugs. “I don’t want to interfere with any of your plans.”

Dean responds with a mirroring shrug of his own. “I was gonna take you out to the Chandelier Tree after we eat, but that’s about as far as I got. Don’t have a lot of time for anything else, since we have to head back tomorrow.” His nose and cheeks are red in the cold wind coming off the ocean, and he lifts the collar of his jacket to try and block some of the chill. “If you want to stay here for the night, it’d make things a little easier.”

“Where is the Chandelier Tree?”

“About an hour south. So if we came back here afterward, it’d save us some time tomorrow.”

Castiel’s heart lurches slightly, sad at the thought that this time together will end so soon. He pushes that aside, however, and tries to be logical. “The festival would be fun, I think. And there’s more options for hotels and dinner here.”

“And gas,” Dean says, looking grim, and Castiel silently promises himself to pay for all their gas stops tomorrow. “Okay. Let’s find some food before we freeze our asses off out here.”

“What a shame that would be,” Castiel remarks glibly, earning a surprised and delighted laugh from Dean as they cross the street. 

It doesn’t take long for them to stumble upon a tiny place that says “Oyster Bar & Seafood” over the door. The sign outside declares the place to be the Waterfront Cafe, and it’s so small that there’s actually a short line against the wall, waiting in the cold for a chance to get inside. They huddle in close, arms around each other, entertaining themselves as they wait by reading about the building’s history on a plaque outside. Dean seems strangely thrilled to learn that the place was originally a saloon and brothel. Enough so that, once they reach the hostess, he asks her if it’s true, and she cheerfully confirms that not only is it absolutely true, but it’s possible to rent the rooms upstairs, and sleep where the ladies once worked.

She leads the way with their menus, and Dean whips his head around at Castiel, who takes a deep breath. “Not tonight,” he says calmly, reading Dean’s ecstatic expression. “But someday.”

“For our honeymoon?” Dean teases, but there’s something affectionate and hopeful in his eyes that sends Castiel’s heart racing. 

“Don’t talk like that in public,” Castiel breathes. Dean grins, and pulls out a chair for Castiel to sit in, before taking his own. 

It’s late in the afternoon, but the restaurant is still serving their lunch menu, so Castiel is left disappointed at the limited seafood selection. He still chooses fried clam strips, and is substantially cheered when Dean ignores their burger menu and picks fish and chips instead. 

Their table is near a large window that overlooks the nearby docks and the bay. Gray clouds are starting to come in off the ocean, and the Christmas lights along the fences and streets, and even some of the docked boats, are starting to come on, responding to the low light. They eat quickly, needing to get to the Chandelier Tree before it gets dark, and are back in the car and on the road within a half-hour, bellies full and hearts happy. 

Once they’re out of town, Dean gestures for Castiel to take over the radio yet again, and Castiel sighs to hide his pleasure. “Is this just so you can play Led Zeppelin the whole way home tomorrow, and I won’t be allowed to complain?”

“Nope.” Dean grins. “It’ll be Metallica.”

“Even better,” Castiel comments dryly, plugging the cord in and opening his iTunes selection as Dean laughs. “Any requests?”

“Play me more songs that make you think of me.” Dean quickly wiggles his eyebrows, but doesn’t take his eyes off the road for long: this patch has more curves and hills than anything they drove this morning. 

Castiel rolls his eyes, and momentarily considers playing something ridiculous. That [weird Gnarls Barkley song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bd2B6SjMh_w), or something off the new Fall Out Boy album. He even clicks into  _ Folie A Deux _ , ready to pick [the one that features Brendon Urie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rNnhH-Sg9YU), but then he remembers how sincere Dean had been earlier. It wouldn’t be nice to throw that in his face and laugh about it. 

Instead, Castiel clicks back, and scrolls a little further down. He chooses a song that hits very close to home, one that he likes to listen to when his heart is heavy after a phone call with Dean reminds him how many miles are between them. Most of its plays came from the period of time after his mistake with Balthazar, where he and Dean weren’t speaking, and Castiel needed something besides platitudes from Hannah and Daphne to hold onto. 

“[Oh, it is love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zY0dt9lQqw8) _  
__From the first time I set my eyes upon yours_ _  
___Thinking, oh, is it love? ”

Dean glances at him again, smirking, eyebrow raised, apparently unimpressed by the  _ sotto voce _ and ukulele. Castiel doesn’t look back, pretending to be more interested in the tree-covered hills turned gold by the setting sun. 

“ _Oh, your heart may long for a love that is more near_ _  
__So, when I’m gone, these words will be here_ _  
__To ease every fear_ _  
__And dry up every tear_ _  
__And make it very clear_ _  
___I kiss you, and I know”

“Oh,” Dean says softly, out of nowhere.

Castiel smiles to himself. “Yes,” he responds, and leaves it at that.

Dean doesn’t speak again until the song plays itself out, now a cheerful full band compared to how it began. “Who does that song?”

“They’re called Hellogoodbye. All one word.”

Dean nods shortly, opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. “Would I like anything else by them?”

“Probably not.”

“Okay.” Dean swallows and taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “Play something else.”

Castiel goes back to  _ Folie A Deux _ . Dean makes a face, but doesn’t complain. His hands keep fidgeting, and Castiel understands. It’s a tricky road. Both hands on the wheel. They can wait.

The rest of the drive seems to fly by, the sky now painted gold, casting shadows on the trees. Again, there’s a feeling in Castiel’s chest that the future seems to stretch on forever, beautiful and shining, like the road ahead. 

When they reach the park, Castiel reaches over Dean to pay the entry fee, and the gentleman gently reminds them that they’ll be closing up soon. As soon as they turn up the road, Dean’s face falls, and Castiel quickly figures out why: it’s a drive-thru redwood, wide and tall, but the hole is too small for Dean’s beautiful, precious, boat of a car. 

“We could try to do a hike really quick?” Dean suggests, as he pulls around and parks. Castiel opens his door and immediately recoils from the chill.

“Probably not a good idea,” he says, reaching for his beanie, then buttoning up his jacket as he gets out. “But there’s no one else here. Let’s check out the tree.”

Dean brightens at that idea, and follows Castiel over towards the tree. They walk through, reaching up to brush their fingers against the old wood, and Castiel takes a few pictures with his phone. Apart from the hole, the tree is fenced off, so they huddle together for warmth and take a quick pass through the gift shop. Like the one this morning, it’s full of trinkets and souvenirs, nothing new that catches their interest, but Dean picks out a keychain with Sam’s name on it, and two overpriced bottles of water. He charms the cashier as he pays, waving to her as they head back to the car.

Once they’re back on the road, driving carefully in the dark, Castiel turns the subject back to music. He asks for Dean’s opinion on a few songs, and Dean seems surprised at first, to actually be asked to say what he thinks, but after the first--- [an unusual, orchestral, indie-pop thing without a proper chorus](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MGHevQoWsGA)\--- he gets into the discussion. They’re lively, debating points back and forth as Castiel switches between songs: [a power-pop piano-oriented piece](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=exZ9o8k7nYo), [Fall Out Boy’s attempt at jazz](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F7mMBSKYUFc), even [a hype anthem by Eminem](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Yhyp-_hX2s), which Castiel’s track team uses to get themselves ready before meets. Dean doesn’t outright reject any of the songs, even coming around to some of Castiel’s opinions, and before they know it, they’re back in Eureka. 

Castiel insists on paying for the room as they try to decide where to stay; there are a multitude of options, from Super 8’s to charming B&Bs, but Castiel simply thinks it’s fair for him to pay for tonight since Dean got yesterday’s hotel. As soon as he makes that argument, Dean stops fighting him on it. He does push a little harder for a cheaper, chain motel, but Castiel puts his foot down. 

“Those places have roaches and bedbugs.”

Dean rolls his eyes, muttering, “Any hotel could have roaches and bedbugs.” Still, he catches the look on Castiel’s face, and sighs. “All right. We’ll go back to that gigantic place.”

The gigantic place is the Red Lion Hotel, and it stretches over three or four blocks, shockingly large for such a small town. Still, it makes it easy to ensure they get a room, and when the smiling woman behind the counter asks if they want a king or two queens, Dean and Castiel speak in unison: “King, please.”

They take their bags to the room, discussing on the way whether or not they want to eat dinner before heading over to the festival. There are several restaurants near the hotel, but the festival will also be offering food, and since it’s downtown, there will be more restaurants there as well. Eventually, they decide to see what the festival has to offer, and at worst, they’ll grab something at the Burger King near their hotel afterwards.

Castiel doesn’t eat a lot of fast food, but after his behavior at the McDonald’s yesterday, he’s looking forward to making a better impression on Dean.

They take a few moments to get ready for the festival, and Castiel tsks at Dean’s choice of jacket. It’s old and cheap and faded, so Castiel offers to let him borrow the black peacoat he’s been wearing all day. 

“What’ll you wear?” Dean asks hesitantly, eyeing the coat. “I don’t want you to freeze either.”

Castiel waves his concern away, reaching into his bag. He hadn’t bothered to pack a separate bag for this trip, and just brought his entire suitcase with him, figuring it would somehow work in his favor. Now it has: not only does Castiel have an extra beanie and pair of gloves for Dean to wear, he also has the old trenchcoat his father gave him before he left for Northwestern. 

As he puts it on, Dean cocks an eyebrow. “Okay, that’s kinda badass.”

“Really?” Castiel adjusts it around his shoulders. “It was my grandfather’s. Dad gave it to me as a going away present.”

“Sucks to be the baby when heirlooms get handed out,” Dean jokes, though he’s still eyeing Castiel appreciatively. “Guess Michael got the diamonds and Gabe got the pearls?”

Castiel rolls his eyes, pulling his gloves on. “I’m not the baby,” he corrects, “and I don’t know what my brothers got. I probably won’t know until Anna goes to college and gets hers.”

“I’m kidding,” Dean says, finally reaching for the peacoat. It suits him unfairly well, brings to mind words like ‘regal’ and ‘distinguished,’ and Castiel is struck by the realization that, one day, they may not even have individual closets or individual clothes. Just things that fit them both and both can wear, and his heart stutters with want. “Are you sure it’ll keep you warm, though?”

“I’m used to snow this time of year,” Castiel points out. “I think I’ll be fine.” He hands Dean the extra beanie, and as he’s adjusting his own, he says without thinking: “I’m going to put that patch you bought me yesterday on this coat.”

Dean gives him another skeptical look. “On an heirloom?”

“Yes.” Castiel smiles slightly. “Isn’t the point of an heirloom to preserve memories?”

“... I guess.”

“Then someday, when I have kids,” Castiel stutters slightly over the words, blushing, unable to say ‘we’ but fully aware that Dean understands what he means, “and I give this to one of them, the memories and stories will be built in. I can point to the patch and say---” He stops himself, heat overwhelming his face, and his throat catches at every variation. He wants it so bad, to have this future with Dean and tell their children about the past, about how their parents fell in love, but he can’t vocalize it. It seems too fragile to speak on.

But when he meets Dean’s eyes, he’s surprised at the softness and longing he sees in them. Dean gets it, he wants it too, and it’s written all over his face as he approaches Castiel, gently cupping his chin to guide him in for a kiss. Castiel puts his hands on Dean’s waist, pressing close, but Dean pulls away as quickly as he approached. “No, no, no,” he chides, the corners of his lips upturned. “Don’t you start that again.”

“Start what again?” Castiel breathes, even as he leans in to steal another kiss. Dean shifts just in time, and Castiel’s lips land on his cheek instead. 

“You get all frisky when we talk like this,” Dean says with a grin, stepping back until only their hands are linked. “If we don’t stop now, we’ll never make it to the festival.”

“I’m okay with that,” Castiel answers before he can stop himself. Dean blinks, his cocky grin falling as his eyes darken. They look at each other for a long moment before Dean shakes his head, hardening his resolve.

“You,” Dean says, shaking a finger at Castiel, “are going to be the death of me.”

It’s Castiel’s turn to wear a smug smile as they finally manage to make it out the door.

The hotel is far enough from downtown that they have to drive, and it takes a few minutes before they finally find a place to park. The area is well-lit, covered in green garlands and white fairy lights. Dean is delighted when the first booth they come across sells fried Oreos and something called “elephant ears,” flattened fried dough covered in cinnamon, sugar, and honey. Castiel has tasted neither, so Dean buys both, and they sit close together on a nearby bench to share. The Oreos are a little much, but the elephant ears are sweet and delicious, and they add a little something to Castiel’s grateful kisses too. 

Further wandering leads to window-shopping. They share a strawberry crepe from another booth, and find redwood, driftwood, and seashell art. Dean finds a piece shaped like an angel, which he first teases Castiel with, then comments more seriously that his mother would like it. Castiel insists on buying it for her, which Dean initially balks at, but Castiel manages to talk him into it by suggesting Dean buy a piece for Naomi. Castiel chooses something small and practical for his own mother, and earns a suspicious glare from Dean when he realizes it’s cheaper than the angel, but no formal complaints are lodged. 

Before long, they’ve seen all the booths and discovered the dance floor, a blocked off area of road where a deejay is taking requests. Castiel brightens when he recognizes [the song that’s playing as they approach](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j82FBbgpUy4).

“This is Dashboard Confessional!”

“Who?” Dean asks warily.

“My favorite song, that I played for you earlier? This is the same band!” And before Dean can respond, Castiel sets their bags aside and drags him into the road. He gets nervous quickly, unsure what to do once they’re in the crowd of happily spinning people, but Dean seems surprisingly thrilled, his smile glowing as he pulls Castiel close. 

“ _And from the ballroom floor, we are in celebration_ _  
__One good stretch before our hibernation_ _  
__Our dreams assured, and we all will sleep well_ _  
___Sleep well ”

It’s warm in the throng of bodies, and Dean’s nose and cheeks are delightfully pink from the cold, so Castiel can’t help kissing the patches of warm skin, drawing laughter out from Dean’s chest. With that sound, as the song starts to build towards its final verse, the events of this weekend replay rapidly through Castiel’s mind: arguing, yes, but that seems so small compared to what they’ve learned about each other, dotted with moments of thoughtfulness, kindness, and the easy way they read each other; sex, both good and bad, all of it just another learning experience, topped with the realization that they’re both in this for the long haul, that they want the same future. Castiel’s heart feels full, and vulnerable, like the way he loves this boy is written on every inch of his skin, but he’s warm and safe in Dean’s arms, and he leans in to press his forehead against Dean, meaning every word as he softly sings along with the simple chorus: 

“ _ You have stolen my heart _ .”

Dean grins wide. He’s beautiful, and Castiel loves him, and for the time being, that’s all that matters.

“ _I watch you spin around in your highest heels_ _  
__You are the best one of the best ones_ _  
___We all look like we feel ”

As the song fades, Dean sweeps Castiel into a kiss that feels like a promise, and the more Castiel thinks about it, the less he’s sure they did any actual dancing. The next song that comes on is less familiar, and it makes Castiel feel self-conscious, so Dean leads the way out of the crowd. The cold hits Castiel like a slap, and he suggests going back to one of the booths that had advertised hot cocoa. Dean agrees, and after retrieving their bags from the sidewalk, they make their way back. 

With cocoa in hand, they decide to sit on a bench near the docks, looking out over the bay. Orange and white lights reflect off the water as it gently moves, the clouds and wind from earlier this afternoon never having made good on their threat. It’s just far enough away for the festival crowd to be white noise in the background, a soothing reminder that they aren’t alone, and the world isn’t as huge as the ocean makes it feel. With Dean’s arm stretched around his shoulders, Castiel lets himself settle in, sipping at his drink and letting the events of the last two days wash over him again.

Apparently, Dean is doing the same. “I’m not ready for this trip to end,” he says abruptly, but Castiel understands.

“It doesn’t have to,” Castiel says with a smile. “We’re not that far from San Francisco. We could take an extra day and head there. Drive down Lombard Street, check out the piers, maybe go to Alcatraz.”

When he glances over, Dean’s expression is thoughtful, but it quickly darkens with disappointment. “I can’t. I have to be back at work on Monday, so we need to be back in Sileas tomorrow.”

“I’m sure Bobby and Ellen would be happy to let you take an extra day.” Castiel has to tread carefully here; it would be very easy for this conversation to suddenly become another argument. “You do a lot for them, and for your mother. You should let yourself have a little more fun. Do a little more for  _ you _ .” 

Dean turns to him, smirking. “And this suggestion has nothing to do with my boyfriend being in town and benefitting from my time off too, does it?”

“Your boyfriend wants to see you,” Castiel says primly. “Don’t you want to see me?”

Dean absorbs this, apparently actually considering what’s being said, which Castiel is grateful for. Silence falls while Dean thinks about it, and Castiel takes a long drink, trying to figure out how to help guide Dean towards agreeing with what he’s saying. 

“I talked to Sam before we left,” Castiel adds quietly, “when you were working late. He told me that he misses you.”

There’s a pause before Dean gives a strained laugh. “He sees me every day.”

“For maybe half an hour.”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

“Not by much.” Castiel sighs, finishing his cocoa. “He spends a lot of nights at home by himself, because you and your mom work so much. I know you do it for him,” he adds when Dean’s expression turns stormy, “I know that, and he knows that. He’s not ungrateful. He just… wants to see his family a bit more often. That’s all.”

Dean still sounds a little upset when he snaps, “What does that have to do with you and this trip?”

“I’m glad that you were able to take a few days off for me,” Castiel answers, aware that he’s walking on eggshells, “and that we’ll get the holidays together. But I flew out here to see and spend time with  _ you _ .”

“I told you---”

“That you’d be working. Yes.” Castiel tries to keep his voice steady, refusing to give into Dean’s building frustration and let this become another fight. “But I thought you’d take half days, or maybe take off at the Roadhouse and only work at the garage. I wasn’t expecting you to be working fifteen-hour days and leaving me to hang out with Charlie and Sam.”

Dean visibly deflates, quickly turning to look out at the water again, and Castiel has to wonder if Bobby and Ellen offered those opportunities to Dean, and he declined. But it’s not worth arguing about what-ifs, or making accusations based on assumptions, so Castiel pushes that aside and continues, “I would like to see you more when I’m in town, and I’m sure Sam would love to see you more year-round. So. Just think about that. Okay?”

“Okay,” Dean whispers.

“And I was mostly kidding about San Francisco,” Castiel adds. “If you have to work, then you have to work. I’ll find something to do. Just… keep what I said in mind.”

“Okay,” Dean says again, but his eyes are distant. 

After a long silence, Castiel starts to feel a little guilty about springing this on Dean at the end of such a beautiful day, and an idea starts to form in the back of his mind. He leans over to press a kiss against Dean’s neck as he takes Dean’s cup. It’s still half-full, but Dean doesn’t bother to stop him, and there’s little worse than lukewarm cocoa anyway, so Castiel gets up to throw them both away. Then, he reaches for Dean’s wrist, pulling him to his feet then wrapping him in an embrace that Dean sinks into.

“Let’s get a real dinner,” Castiel whispers, “then we can go back to the hotel, and you can shower---”

“Shower?” Dean snorts. “I showered this morning.”

Castiel nuzzles at Dean’s cheek until he shifts his face enough for Castiel to leave a kiss on his upper lip. “ _ Shower _ ,” Castiel repeats firmly, “and I can try what I tried this morning again.”

It takes a moment before Dean’s head springs up, jaw slack with surprise. “Really?”

“Really.”

Dean meets his eyes, managing to look concerned and excited at the same time. “Are you sure?”

“Very sure.” Castiel squeezes him gently, then takes a few steps back. “But dinner first.”

Dinner comes from Burger King, quick and quiet and easy. There’s no one else in the restaurant, and Dean and Castiel exchange glances across the table as they eat, but don’t say a word. Castiel can barely taste his burger, which might be for the better, but he’s trying so hard to stay focused and not let his head spiral into a panic over what he’s just promised. He  _ does _ want to try again, with Dean’s guidance, but it’s difficult to avoid thinking about how badly it went this morning. 

If Castiel can’t get past this, what’s the point of trying anything else? 

He’s not sure why Dean doesn’t try to start a conversation, however. 

Still, they’re in and out within twenty minutes, and back at their hotel soon after that. Castiel’s heartbeat picks up, thumping irregularly against his ribcage, but as soon as they’re in the room with the door closed, Dean pulls him in by the lapels of his jacket, pressing a close-mouthed but knee-weakening kiss against his lips. It’s steadying, a much-needed reminder of the way they feel about each other, and how those feelings spur actions and intimacy. When Dean leans back, smiling shyly, Castiel feels a little less like he’s hanging by a thread, and a little more like he wants to make his boyfriend feel good.

“I’m gonna shower.” Dean is still close, his voice a soft rumble, almost like a purr. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Don’t start without me,” Castiel demands, surprising himself, but Dean just grins and gives him another kiss.

“You’re a natural,” he says as he finally lets go of Castiel’s jacket and heads towards the bathroom. Castiel’s not sure what that means, but it’s definitely a compliment, so he’ll take it. 

Then, Dean is behind a closed door, and Castiel is alone with his anticipation. 

Unsure of what else to do, Castiel heads for the sink in the alcove and brushes his teeth. He’s still in full winter regalia, coat and beanie and gloves, and stares at himself in the mirror as he runs the brush through his mouth. He’s very aware of all the sensations on his tongue and the roof of his mouth all of a sudden, and feels abruptly absurd. He spits, rinses his mouth out, and takes a deep breath, trying to collect his scattered thoughts. Okay. He doesn’t taste like his dinner anymore. That’s a step in the right direction. 

Now what?

Clothes. He’s wearing way too many of them. 

He removes his outerwear, tossing them over his suitcase. Then, before he can second-guess himself, he peels off his shirt, quickly followed by his shoes, socks, and jeans. When he reaches for his underwear, it occurs to him that he doesn’t necessarily need to be naked for this. Dean might even prefer him clothed. He catches himself, silently refusing to be distracted by unimportant things, and redirects, returning to the mirror to take his piercings out, so he doesn’t forget before they go to bed. 

That’s when he hears the shower shut off. His heart misses a beat, and he scolds himself, frowning at his reflection. He’s not a frail and wilting flower. He can deal with mistakes and he can take direction.  It’s ridiculous to be so nervous about something he’s already done before, something he’s already messed up and is actively trying to do better at. 

It’s a blowjob, not the apocalypse. 

The bathroom door opens, and Castiel’s frown disappears when Dean walks out and blinks in surprise. “You’re way ahead of me,” He comments, eyes falling down to Castiel’s hips before darting back up. Dean is wearing his paint-stained pajamas, and Castiel feels his cheeks heat up at the realization of how much of his own skin is on display.

“I just wanted to be ready.”

“It’s not a complaint,” Dean says, grinning as he steps close enough to brush his fingers against Castiel’s neck and shoulders, where his mouth left discolorations this morning and last night. His skin is warm and flushed from the hot water, and Castiel shivers. “I’ve never seen this much of you at once.”

“We were naked together last night.”

“It’s different when the lights are on.” Dean’s hand travels down Castiel’s spine, but stops at his waist. His palm feels blazing hot, and Castiel can’t take his eyes off Dean’s face, and the way Dean seems to be committing this moment to memory, drawing it line-by-line in the sketchpad in his mind. 

Castiel gathers his courage, says, “You can touch me, you know.”

“I am touching you,” Dean answers, and Castiel’s not sure if he’s being obtuse on purpose or not.

“Anywhere you want.”

Dean meets his gaze. The whole room feels ten degrees warmer, and Dean is standing closer than Castiel thought, and the look in his eyes is intense, flitting between several different emotions as they wait, as they each dare the other one to make the first move. 

Dean shifts slightly, and Castiel tilts his head, anticipating a kiss that will make his toes curl, but Dean just steps away. When he takes Castiel’s hand, every touch seems significant; his grip is loose enough that Castiel wouldn’t have to follow if he chose not to… but he does. He follows Dean to the chair next to the window, and when Dean sits down, he reaches for Castiel’s other hand, guiding him closer. He hesitates, and Castiel wonders if this is the moment he should get on his knees, but then he sees the sudden resolve in Dean’s eyes, in the tightness of his jaw, and Dean suddenly releases his hands and grabs at his thighs instead. Castiel flails in surprise, and stumbles forward, landing in Dean’s lap, barely avoiding knocking their heads together before he steadies himself.

Dean stares at Castiel for a moment, then smiles awkwardly. “That went smoother in my head.”

“Grabbing my ass was smooth?”

“It wasn’t your ass!” Dean catches himself, and pouts when Castiel grins. 

“If you wanted a lapdance, you should’ve asked.”

Dean blushes bright, beautiful pink, and stutters for a moment before finally managing real words: “That’s not what I---  _ Cas _ !” He gasps softly when Castiel shifts in his lap, only half on purpose. “I want  _ both _ of us to like this, so I thought, y’know… foreplay?”

“A lapdance is foreplay?” Castiel is teasing, but it’s comforting to know that he isn’t the only one who’s a little nervous and overwhelmed. Understanding that gives Castiel the courage to take a little more control. He places Dean’s hands on his thighs, and Dean’s head jerks up as Castiel moves again, bracketing Dean’s hips with his knees then leaning forward, bracing himself with a hand on each side of Dean’s head. It’s a tight fit, but the chair is just wide enough to accomodate them both. 

Dean looks up at him, breath already coming short as his thumbs anxiously rub against the fabric of Castiel’s underwear, as if he still doesn’t understand that Castiel has given permission to touch and grab wherever he wants. He didn’t have such reservations yesterday, but maybe that was different. They were caught up in their passions and a desire for victory, and Dean hadn’t had time to second-guess himself. 

Castiel’s not sure how he ended up being the one in control when he was panicking so badly this morning, when he’s normally so discomfited by his own sexuality. But when Dean looks at him with his summer-green eyes, wide and dark, and when Dean’s jaw is clenched so tight it twitches and his fingers fidget but don’t grab… when Dean so obviously  _ wants _ him, it makes Castiel feel powerful, and when Dean is so obviously straining to keep control, Castiel just wants to try and break it. 

There might be something to the psychology of sex, or the intimacy of it, something that Castiel had been missing with his earlier exploits. But that doesn’t matter now.

Dean gasps again and tightens his grip when Castiel casually rotates his hips. There’s only the fabric of their boxers between them, but Castiel is still taken aback when he realizes Dean is already half-hard, though the way he’s gripping bruises into Castiel’s skin and struggling to control his breathing should say enough. Still, this is easy, garnering such a reaction just by rolling back and forth. 

Confidence pushes Castiel into stealing a kiss from Dean’s slack mouth. It’s mostly lower lip, teeth and chin at first, but eventually Dean catches on and groans as they fit together just right, as Castiel teases with his tongue. Dean finally also moves his hands from Castiel’s thighs to his ass, guiding his movements where he wants them, and his head falls back when Castiel moves just right. 

“I could come like this,” Dean breathes, eyes on the ceiling. The expanse of his neck is so inviting that Castiel accepts, leaning in to leave kisses there, to suck a mark under his ear before he responds.

“Do you want to?”

“Do you want me to?” Dean counters, not missing a beat. Castiel doesn’t respond immediately, thinking it over as he continues to lavish Dean’s neck with attention, taking in the soft sounds Dean makes in response. His hands wander in the meantime, under Dean’s shirt, again enjoying the soft give of Dean’s belly. Dean is so reactive, fidgeting and sighing and tightening his grip, and it’s all because of Castiel doing very simple things. 

So he backs away from Dean’s neck for one more searing kiss before climbing off his lap. Dean watches, loosening his hold and brushing his fingertips against Castiel’s arms until he can interlace their fingers instead. They stay that way for a long moment, hands hanging between them, Dean looking up at Castiel with an expression that jumps from concern to excitement and back and together. Castiel reminds himself that there are no obligations here: he offered, and Dean accepted, and Dean would allow him to change his mind whenever he wants. 

Dean cares more about Castiel’s well-being than his own pleasure, and that's all Castiel needs to know.

He drops to his knees, and Dean gasps softly, as if he hadn’t expected Castiel to follow through. That thought just spurs Castiel on, as he parts Dean’s legs and shuffles between them, bracing himself with one hand on Dean’s thigh. For his part, Dean is gripping the chair so hard that his arms are quivering, and Castiel glances up at his face to find him biting his lip, gaze full of anticipation. This is interesting, but Castiel is so struck by the strength of  _ want _ in Dean’s eyes, he can’t bother to think about why. It’s more important to use his free hand to slowly drag Dean’s shirt up, so he can lean over and leave a kiss under Dean’s navel. The muscles twitch under his lips, and Dean whines softly.

“You’re a tease, Cas.”

“Am I?” Castiel asks innocently, meeting Dean’s eyes again. This must be the only unattractive angle Dean has, but Castiel figures he’s probably not that good-looking from below either, and besides, it’s that radiating aura of  _ want _ that Castiel is turned on by. So he smiles at Dean’s pouty huff and slides his hand further up Dean’s thigh, again fascinated by the texture of fine hairs, until his fingers dip far enough below the fabric to brush against the head of Dean’s penis. Dean jumps and makes an embarrassing noise, and Castiel grins wide. “Maybe you need to calm down.”

“‘M fine.”

Castiel tsks. “That was just my fingers, Dean. What are you going to do when it’s my mouth?”

Dean wheezes, and Castiel can’t help laughing at how tightly wound he is. 

“It’s warm in here,” Castiel comments casually, pushing his hand further into Dean’s boxers, squeezing gently at the tip until he feels wetness against his thumb. “Why don’t you take off your shirt?”

Dean finally releases one arm of the chair to instead roughly run his hand through Castiel’s hair. His hips are circling minutely, seeking out more. “Why don’t you take off your underwear?”

Castiel blinks, briefly thrown off guard. Dean strokes his hair again, softer this time, and Castiel takes a shaky breath before countering, “You too.”

Dean hesitates, then takes his hand back .  Castiel does the same. There’s a moment of stillness, once again each waiting for the other to make the first move, and Castiel can only hear the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears. 

Then, Dean reaches for the hem of his shirt, while Castiel goes for the waistband of his own underwear, and before they have the chance to think about it, they’re both naked, and Castiel has launched himself at Dean, desperate for a taste of his mouth. Dean clutches at Castiel’s face and neck, scraping his nails against Castiel’s scalp until he finds enough hair to get a good grip on. He pulls gently, not in any specific direction, and Castiel moans before separating with a pop. He admires the view of Dean’s lidded eyes and wet, swollen lips, before making his way down Dean’s torso, tasting whatever faded freckles he finds and taking a curious lap at one of Dean’s nipples on the way. Dean shivers in a most pleasing way, but Castiel has stalled long enough, and stores that information away for later. 

This is already much better than this morning. Dean being an enthusiastic participant has added layers to this that Castiel couldn’t have predicted. 

Dean’s cock is hard, red, and leaking against his stomach as Castiel takes it in hand. He rubs his thumb against the wet slit, and the reminder of the bitter taste of come makes his lip curl. 

“Don’t,” Castiel commands, “come in my mouth.”

Dean swallows and nods. His cock twitches in Castiel’s fist. “Yes, sir.”

Castiel gives him a stern, warning glance, then leans down to fit his mouth over the head of Dean’s cock. 

It’s better. There’s no musky, sweaty stench, just the clean scent of whatever soap Dean used, and while the precome is still bitter and salty, it’s not so bad on its own. Dean’s hands are still in his hair, not pulling but definitely a guiding force as Castiel experiments with his tongue, with taking in more, with sucking and humming. 

Dean’s breathy gasps and soft babbling compliments help keep Castiel from falling too deep into questioning himself. It’s not so bad this way, certainly not a chore, and Castiel flicks his eyes up at Dean. Again, not the best angle, but Dean is red-faced and panting, throwing his head back after briefly meeting Castiel’s gaze. This is a much prettier view, the straight line of Dean’s flushed and freckled chest and neck, peaked nipples and heaving shoulders. 

Castiel settles on suckling the head of Dean’s cock, stroking the staff, while his other hand makes its way up Dean’s stomach, pressed flat and warm. Dean groans, releasing Castiel’s hair to take his hand instead, and he drops his head to look at Castiel again, mouth slack.

Feeling pretty good about himself, Castiel winks. Dean keens, clutching at Castiel’s hand like a lifeline. 

“Cas,” he chokes out, and Castiel takes the hint, crawling back into Dean’s lap and kissing him soundly. Dean grabs at him, fingers digging into the meat of Castiel’s back and ass as he grinds against him.

“How do you want to do this?” Castiel whispers, leaning back just enough to drag his thumb over Dean’s lower lip. Dean’s breath hitches, and he reaches between them, only to abruptly draw back when he gets a hand around both of their cocks. 

It takes a moment, where he searches Castiel’s face and disappointment sets in on his own, before he asks, “You’re not hard?”

This is exactly what Castiel was afraid of. Dean looks confused, and Castiel feels distressed when he sees the wheels turning behind those beautiful green eyes, Dean wondering what he did wrong when the answer is  _ nothing _ . Dean is not the problem, and Castiel knows that, because he knows that he, himself, is the real problem. Him and his weird body, his anxiety, and his strange reactions to sex. 

But they’ve come too far to point fingers now. 

Castiel makes a choice: he’s not going to let a small set-back stop them. 

He kisses Dean again, determined to transfer all his love and passion through it. Dean allows it, and it doesn’t take long before he’s clutching at Castiel again, like they can’t be close enough even if their skin is stuck together with dried sweat. That’s when Castiel breaks away again, leaving kisses on the apple of Dean’s cheek, the bolt of his jaw, the lobe of his ear, before whispering, “Get me there.” 

Surprise jolts through him when Dean instantly reaches for his waist, pushing him off his lap. They’re a clumsy mess as Dean attempts to get them where he wants them without having to put in the energy to use his words: Castiel stands, and Dean slides off the chair onto his knees. At first, Castiel thinks that’s how this is going to go, and he grasps at the arm of the chair in an attempt to keep himself balanced, but then Dean is tugging at his wrist. Castiel gets back on his knees as well, still confused, until Dean pulls him into a kiss. Once Castiel relaxes into it, Dean wraps his arms around Castiel’s torso, supporting him as he guides him into laying on his back on the carpet, and crawls between Castiel’s legs. 

Castiel gently pushes him back. “On the floor?”

Dean grins. “Trust me,” he says, and then the magic starts. 

Dean is  _ good _ at this, and he  _ enjoys _ it. That’s not to say Castiel doesn’t like kissing and exploring Dean’s body, but when he gets to enjoy the benefits of Dean’s natural instincts, it makes him wonder if he shouldn’t try a little harder to turn his brain off during sex. 

In fact, he forces himself to take that advice right away, because Dean’s hands are everywhere, but his mouth is latched around Castiel’s nipple, and making artwork with his tongue. It’s such an intense sensation that Castiel’s not sure what to do with it, so he lets himself moan, and lets his blood catch fire. 

Dean takes his time. He leaves marks on Castiel’s neck, shoulders, and chest, kisses down his forearms to find sensitive wrists that make Castiel shiver, and tastes every inch of his stomach. He makes another mark in the ‘V’ of Castiel’s hips, then skips down to his thighs, nipping at the tender insides, and carefully drawing his fingers over the back of Castiel’s knees. By the time he looks up with a smug grin, Castiel is shaking and hard, and now it’s Dean’s turn to wink as he kisses the tip of Castiel’s cock, then swallows half of it in one go. 

If it felt like the seconds had slowed before, they jump ahead to catch up now. Dean worships Castiel’s cock with his mouth and hands, and Castiel is writhing, sounds he doesn’t recognize as his own wrenching themselves from his throat. His skin is thrumming, electric, and he struggles to find one of Dean’s hands, finally removing it from his hip and squeezing tight.

Dean squeezes back, and Castiel lifts his head to find Dean looking at him from under his lashes, and  _ God _ , is it a pretty picture, those lips stretched around Castiel’s cock, and Castiel feels like the breath has been punched out of him at the sight. 

Capturing this kind of beauty must be why Dean is an artist.

Castiel squeezes Dean’s hand again, and like their minds are finally in sync, Dean takes it as a signal, popping off to crawl over Castiel’s body again, kissing him open-mouthed, so full of desire that Castiel feels dizzy with the tidal wave of want, and can’t tell Dean’s from his own. They’re on the same plane, and that feels so significant that Castiel doesn’t dare touch it. 

Dean hips grind into Castiel’s, their cocks aligned, and the whole room gains a few degrees as Dean cups his hand around their erections and thrusts into it. Castiel moans into Dean’s mouth, and he can taste the bitter salt of precome,  _ his own precome _ , and for some reason, it’s not as disgusting when he tastes it on Dean’s tongue. He chases it, and doesn’t dare look too deeply into that either. 

He can’t thrust like he wants to, pinned under Dean’s weight, but his hips sure try, and he does his part by holding Dean’s head in place, fucking his mouth with his tongue, like their lives depend on it. For a moment, it feels like they do. Then, something in Castiel seizes, and he jerks out of the kiss with a strangled sound as his orgasm crests and he comes, digging his nails into Dean’s neck, trying to hold onto something. 

For his part, Dean takes in the whole moment with wide, attentive eyes, and when Castiel finally relaxes, slumping back into the carpet, Dean leans over to quietly ask, “Can I come on you?” 

Castiel just nods. If he can make Castiel feel this blissful, Dean can do whatever the hell he wants. 

And apparently, Dean is happy to stay close, trading lazy kisses as he jerks himself off until he comes with a choked noise, adding to the mess on Castiel’s stomach. He tries to catch himself, but can’t quite get the coordination, collapsing his full weight onto Castiel, who grunts.

“Fuck,” Dean breathes. Whatever else he might have wanted to say is cut off when someone pounds on the wall behind the television. Castiel stiffens, suddenly very aware that they have neighbors and who knows what kind of feral sounds might have been heard, but then a laugh bubbles out of Dean, and the anxiety building up in Castiel’s chest instantly calms. 

“We’re done!” Dean yells at the wall, still trying to stifle his giggles. “Sorry!”

Their neighbor hits the wall one more time, and then the room is silent but for Dean’s laughter. It’s contagious, and soon Castiel finds himself laughing too. 

They exchange happy kisses, giggling into each other’s mouths, then Dean rolls onto his back, grinning.

“As I was  _ trying _ to say,” he continues, “that was intense.”

Castiel hesitates before quietly asking, “And that’s good?”

“It’s awesome, Cas.” Dean sits up and starts to get to his feet, but Castiel stays on the floor. His brain is slowly coming back online, questioning all the ways things happened and the ways they should have happened. Dean seems pleased and satisfied as he stretches and heads towards the bathroom, but Castiel can’t help commenting: 

“But I didn’t get you off with my mouth.” He frowns. Dean snorts in the distance. “In fact,  _ I _ didn’t get you off at all.”

“Oh, you got me off, sweetheart.” Dean reappears at Castiel’s side, offering a hand to help him up, which Castiel takes. In Dean’s other hand is a damp washcloth, and the warmth of it when he presses it to Castiel’s belly is a stark reminder of how cold the room is and how naked they both still are. “It was a good time. Why worry about the details?”

Castiel beelines for the warm bed and climbs in as Dean tosses the washcloth at the sink. “I’m not worrying about the details.”

Dean stands at the edge of the bed and frowns at him. “You don’t have to touch me to be the one that got me off, Cas.” He shuts off the lamp, then slides under the covers, his arms immediately wrapping around Castiel’s torso, pulling him close. “What is this really about?” He asks quietly. 

Castiel lays silent in the dark for a long moment before he answers: “I didn’t get hard. At first.”

A pause, then a challenge: “And?”

“And it made you feel bad. Because you thought it was your fault.”

Dean laughs, sunny and easy. “Yeah, for about two seconds until I realized you were still into it. So your engine is tuned different from mine, so what? We still got there, together, and it was awesome.” 

Castiel reaches up, suddenly compelled to trace the details of Dean’s face with his fingertips, all the little things he loves, like the bump in Dean’s nose and the dip in his chin. Dean sighs, pleased with the attention, then continues his train of thought.

“I always thought it was a joke, or some Hollywood stupidity, that sex could be so much better with someone you’re in love with.” Dean’s hands slide down Castiel’s back, pulling him closer and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “But I’m the stupid one, because it’s true.”

“ _ Dean _ ,” Castiel warns, though he’s not sure what he’s trying to warn him away from. Either way, Dean scoffs and shakes his head.

“No, I’m serious, let me say this.” Castiel’s fingers trail down Dean’s neck to his chest, feeling his pulse the whole way, and Dean’s voice becomes a little shaky. “You’re still figuring this shit out, I get it, but I’m not making this up. You’re awesome, and sex with you is on an entirely different level from anyone I’ve ever been with.” 

Their eyes meet, somehow, in the dark, and Castiel feels a warm puff of breath against his lips as Dean collects his thoughts. 

“We have chemistry,” Dean continues. “It’s… electric.”

“I know,” Castiel whispers. 

“We fit together.”

“I know.”

Dean finally closes the distance for a kiss, but he misses, leaving one on Castiel’s chin and lower lip, and pulling back before Castiel can adjust. “So if you need a little more from me,” Dean says, voice warmer and more inviting than the pile of blankets they’re huddled under, “I’m happy to give it.”

Castiel smiles. “I know.” He presses their lips together, chaste and sweet. “Me too. Whatever you need.”

One more kiss. Then Dean carefully rearranges them, his head on Castiel’s chest and his arms around Castiel’s waist. The dark and the silence are comforting as they fall asleep so closely entwined, happy with how far they’ve managed to come in such a short time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've wanted to have a Christmas update since 2014, so since I was finally writing again, I was determined to finally hit that goal! I had to make some concessions (I really wanted to reach Christmas within the chapter itself, but as is my way, scenes were turning out longer than I expected), but noxsoulmate suggested that this would serve as a good chapter on its own, and since it's a whopping 17k, I guess I agree! Even though it's a little disappointing that we won't get to have Christmas with the boys, I am glad that I'm able to post such a happy, fluffy chapter on Christmas Day, and I hope you all enjoyed it too :)
> 
> Some links for your enjoyment!
> 
> [Dean's Mixtape](https://open.spotify.com/user/vintagenoise/playlist/4vBfZWg5fG4L537bUKgIjY) of his favorite songs  
> [Cas's Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/vintagenoise/playlist/3bXKHAa6vHJf4plpfUTYVS) of favorite songs  
> [Young Volcanoes playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/vintagenoise/playlist/5pnEPDiYlZUbBMJb8LJ7V3)
> 
> I'm hoping to update again by my birthday in February, before Vegascon :) keep me honest by leaving a comment/kudos, or hitting me up on [Tumblr](http://someoneworthfinding.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](http://twitter.com/lbrstacyanne)!

**Author's Note:**

> So! it's been awhile!
> 
> Upside: I'm feeling a lot better than I was the last time you saw me here :) and with the help of my friend noxsoulmate, you might be seeing more of me, sooner.
> 
> This was originally supposed to be just two chapters, one for 2008 and one for 2009, but after some discussion, I decided it would be easier on me to break it up into four, two chapters for each visit. This will also speed up update times :) 
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think! Leave a comment, or come say hi on [Tumblr](http://someoneworthfinding.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](http://twitter.com/lbrstacyanne)!


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